


Tiger and Dragon

by Ellie_M_P



Series: Phoenix [1]
Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_M_P/pseuds/Ellie_M_P
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an emotional walk through the soul of a man whose life has just fallen apart. How does he find the reason to go on? Can he find his destiny..or perhaps it's his son's? This is a story about decisions, memory, and fate, as seen through the eyes of a Shaolin disciple that has strayed from his path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> > As the series makers never made their mind about the year Laura died, I settled for end of 1967 - early 1968.

 

‘Did he leave again?’

‘Yes, just now. He’s gonna take the one o'clock bus to San Francisco.’

The old monk sighed. His young friend was slowly being consumed by this tragedy and he feared that an innocent child was going to pay for it all.

He bent head and checked on the toddler. A two-and-something-year old boy was sound asleep in his bed. The monk gently covered him with a tiny blanket. He had to repeat the action quite frequently as the little one was constantly kicking it away. The old man smiled at the head sticking out from beneath the blanket, and lovingly stroked the dark-blond hair. So far God was being very cruel to this child.

‘Do you want me to stay with him, Master?’

‘You have classes, young Khan, I will stay with Peter,’ said the old monk, and sat by the little bed without missing the boy off his sight.

‘If he cries when he wakes up, give him his teddy-bear.’

The boy pointed at a fluffy panda bear, present for the toddler from his mother.

‘There are mashed potatoes…’

‘Young Khan, I know.’ The old man smiled. ‘…You like him, don’t you?’

‘He likes me, too.’ The youth grinned with a subtle sadness in the eyes. ‘We share much in common already…’

‘Yes…’

‘Master, what's Peter’s father doing in San Francisco so often? Shouldn’t he be here with him, especially now?’

‘You’re too young to understand the answers to the questions you ask, young man.’

‘I heard rumours…’

‘It is not the monks’ business to gossip, and it’s certainly not yours to eavesdro!’

‘I’m sorry, Master.’

The teenager meant to leave but then he remembered something.

‘Master… What will happen if Mr Caine doesn’t… If he…’

‘He will not, don’t worry. Soon the temple is welcoming a very special visitor; I am certain he will be able to help.’

‘I hope so.’

The teenager bowed and left. It was a form class he had to attend, so presence there was important. And he had more than half an hour walk to the temple.

 

 

*******


	2. Betrayal

 

_Five days later_

Busses to and from the big city were two times a day; Braniff was too far and too small for them to be more frequent. The last bus arrived at the town centre at about 7 pm. Small crowd went off and immediately dispersed. Most passengers headed West and South, where the good living areas were.

Only one tall man in his early 30es headed towards Main Street. Outside the grocery he stopped and took his wallet. He checked its miserable contents, and his serious expression darkened even more. Shortly he came out of the store with a paper bag containing black bread, cheese, three bananas and a bottle of the cheapest whisky. With a sigh the man headed north.

Fifteen minutes later he was standing outside a small but neat one-storey house, quietly nested in the Northern outskirts of the town. He stared at the wooden structure for a while. His family had arrived here six months ago. They still had hope then, and the house, which he personally fixed and made habitable in a record short time, seemed cosy and jolly. Now he could not look at it without disgust and anger. The only reason he was still living in it was simply because he had not the slightest idea where to take from here the pathetic wreckage he called his 'life'.

Of course, the fact that the roof was leaking, and the front staircase lacked one plank certainly added to the sad picture before him.

He opened the gate of the small front yard. It felt like he was entering a tomb. It was a tomb, in effect, a place of death. Suddenly the door of the house opened and a thirteen-year old youth fled out panicked.

‘Mr Caine, Mr Caine, quick, it’s Peter!’

The man, suddenly brought back to reality, dropped the paper bag and ran inside. His eyes were going to pop out of their orbits, but not before his heart had exploded. His son! Something was wrong with his son!

Oh, God, no, not Peter!

Inside the house an old monk was sitting in the messy living room; in his arms was a screaming toddler. Caine landed to his knees right in front of the monk. His quick move brought a stream of air mixed with the tangible smell of beer and smoke. The man gently took the boy in his arms. The little one stopped crying the moment he sensed his father; he stretched his tiny hands, and held tightly around the tall man’s neck.

‘Pappy...’

‘I’m here, my son, I’m here.’

The man cradled his child for a while.

‘What’s going on, what’s wrong with him?’ He hugged the child with one arm like when he was a little baby, and instinctively pressed lips on the little forehead.

‘He’s burning!’ He was frantically looking either at the old monk, or at the frightened teenager who had frozen by the door.

‘Your son has fever.’

‘I can see that,’ snapped Caine, and looked severely at the old man. He held the toddler closer to his body and got up. On that particular day there were no useful herbs in his ever-present satchel, so he went to the kitchen.

‘Michael, come here!’

The teenager was hesitating.

‘I said come ‘ere!’ The old monk made a sign to the boy not to be afraid, and he slowly advanced to the small kitchen.

He  _was_  afraid. Caine might not have been a Shaolin ‘officially’ but he was well capable of overcoming many skilled Shaolin. So right now the thirteen-year old Michael Lee Khan got to realise why these monks possessed almost superhuman control over their emotions: they had to… for the sake and safety of everybody else around them.

‘Hold him for a moment.’

The tall man gave his young protégée the baby, and started preparing a mixture.

‘M-master Ping Hai was applying wet t-towels…’ Michael could not hide his fear, and reproached himself for the silly stutter. At least while Peter was in his hands he was safe.

‘Are you afraid of me, Mike?’ Caine looked at the teen while he was mixing the dried herbs.

‘Well…’ The boy looked at his feet.

‘I'd never hurt you, kid, you know that… Right?’

‘Y-yes, I know that.’ Michael smiled timidly.

In that moment Caine noticed how pale his son’s face was. He left the mixing bowl aside, and took the child back in his arms.

‘Bring me those towels.’

Khan ran to the living room but Caine was forced to follow when Peter threw up on him. Regretting for his earlier outburst towards the old Master, he bowed and begged his assistance. The monk took a dry towel from a pile of one-week old unfolded laundry, and placed it on the sofa. Caine put his son there and absently started unbuttoning his shirt. He did not miss the child off his sight even for a second. Then half-naked he kneeled next to Peter and started changing his clothes, too.

‘When did he get sick?’

‘Two days ago,’ answered the monk.

‘Two days?’ Caine gave the monk a blaming look and then his attention returned to his son.

‘…We did not know where to find you, Kwai Chang Caine.’

Caine pressed lips but did not say anything. The old monk had the annoying habit of reading his mind and he hated it; it made him feel vulnerable.

Peter made a quiet sound. Caine leaned closer to him with a wet towel. The boy was looking helplessly at his father. Those big hazel eyes, usually beaming with life and energy, were now closing with exhaustion; he was very weak.

‘Peter?’ Caine started panicking.

‘Peter, can you hear me? It’s m-me, Peaty, D-daddy’s here…’

His voice trembled. The boy opened eyes briefly and then closed them completely.

‘God, NO!’

The man hugged his son.

‘My herbs, Michael, my herbs… Quick, boy!’

Michael ran to collect the unfinished potion but then he heard Caine shouting ‘It’s too late!’ He was pressing his son’s weak, little body to his bare chest.

‘The hospital!’ He leapt to the door. 'We have to take him to the hospital! Quick!’

Khan was completely confused. The younger man was standing horrified with his sick son in his arms, ready to rush out of the house, while the older one was calmly sitting on the sofa. At last Caine noticed, too.

‘What? Why are standing there? My son...’

‘What do you see, young Caine?’

‘My child is sick!’

‘But what do you  _feel_?’

‘He has fever!’

‘Concentrate, Kwai Chang Caine! He is your son, you two are like one…’

‘Ping Hai, I'm not a Shambhala Master like you, I’m not even a Shaolin, I don’t have the same heightened senses...’

The old monk smiled patronizingly. ‘You do not need to be a Shambhala Master to feel your son, Caine. Now look at him and concentrate!’

‘I…’

The younger man felt embarrassed. If his son was as seriously ill as he thought, the old Master would have done something about it. He had heard all sorts of stuff about Shambhala Masters, that they can cure you with one touch, that they can walk through walls, and of other super-natural skills. The desire to spend more time with Ping Hai was partly due to an old dream of his, namely to meet a real Shambhala Master.

‘Come, Caine, come here.’

Caine sat next to Ping Hai, and looked at his boy’s pale face.

‘Now listen.’

‘… to what exactly?’

‘To your body, to Peter, to your surroundings…’

Caine took a deep breath. His heart was beating normally, his stomach was relaxed.

‘My body’s… at ease?’

The old monk grinned. ‘What does that tell you?’

He looked at his son. ‘That… Peter will be all right?’

Ping Hai leanedm and stroked the little head. ‘A doctor came to see him yesterday.’

‘But…’

‘I-I called him,’ came a voice from behind. ‘Master Ping Hai was in the woods for herbs, and the fever would not go away, and I was alone… I was frightened.’

‘It is normal, young Khan, don’t worry.’

Then Ping Hai looked at Caine. ‘I told him I’d come back with herbs for young Peter but he got scared.’ He laughed. ‘How did the doctor call it?’

‘The three-day fever.’

‘Wha’?’

Caine almost smiled. He had read in one of the parenting books about the disease. It was one of the most common illnesses amongst children under 3, and it was usually gone... in three days.

‘In the next twelve hours he will develop a rash. And then it will be over. Three-day fever.’ The monk shrugged.

Caine relaxed on the sofa, and stroked the boy sleeping in his arms. ‘Three-day… That’s it? J-just a fever? Three days?’

‘Yes.’

The younger man started breathing intensely. His gaze was going over the whole room, then to Ping Hai, then to the old TV set, then around the room again… He did not dare look only at his little son.

Caine moved head away from the toddler as he was handing him over to Ping Hai, and left the room. He could barely hold himself. There, out in the crisp evening air, Caine finally realised he still had no shirt on; the wind was piercing through his body. He remembered his small paper bag and went to the gate to pick it.

The bag was lying on the ground. He touched, it was wet; the whisky bottle had cracked. The bread was soaked and completely useless; the cheese was all smelling of alcohol, so were the bananas. The man explored the sad remnants of his evening shopping. The mess in his feet reminded him very much of his own situation – inedible and smelling of alcohol.

Caine was sobbing. He leaned head on one hand, and for a brief moment let go of his sorrow.

Then suddenly the man grabbed the almost empty bottle, got up and flung it at the brick wall to the right of him, giving a desperate cry in the process. He threw it so as if that bottle was the sole reason for the tragedies in his life. Sound of smashed glass echoed in the quiet evening. Caine leaned on his knees; he needed air, he thought he was suffocating.

‘Mr Caine?..’

The young Khan was standing at the door. He had come outside anxious, attracted by the sound of broken glass. Caine gazed at the boy briefly, then fixated his eyes back on the ground. A short flashback reminded him of the poor San Francisco teenager who had escaped from home.

It has been a home with a manic-depressive mother and an abusive step-father. Those were the last months of Laura’s life and Caine badly needed help in the house. He took Michael in. The boy helped with the chores, with Peter, too, and in the free time Caine began teaching him kung fu. Khan liked it so much that now, only five months later, he was already considering to train for a priest.

Until now Caine had never thought that the only reason why Khan had not moved permanently to the temple yet was that the teenager felt strong obligation for his well-doer. The devastated man stood up and inhaled deeply, allowing the cold air to fill his lungs. Kwai Chang Caine knew he had hit rock bottom.

‘Mr Caine… is everything all right? Are you OK?’

‘Yes, Mike, I’ll be fine.’ Caine wiped his tears, and forced a smile. Then he went back to collect the slightly infused fruits and cheese.

‘Pete’s gonna be OK...’

‘I know that.’

He hugged the boy and together they went inside. There Caine saw old Ping Hai cradling the two-year old Peter and singing an old Chinese lullaby. The young father could not express how grateful he was for the Master’s love and care for his son.

‘He woke up when you left; I do not think he likes you being away from him, Kwai Chang Caine.’

‘I don’t like it either,’ said Caine calmly and approached. ‘I must beg your forgiveness, Master. I acted with haste, and didn’t listen to my instincts as I have been taught.’

Caine bowed and sat next to Ping Hai.

When thirty-year old Kwai Chang was at peace, he looked benevolent and even phlegmatic. However, when rage, piled after years of loss and solitude, took over, his senses shut and Caine tended to turn into a wild animal… a very self-destructive wild animal.

‘I’m sure your son forgives you…’ Ping Hai gave his young student a meaningful look. Caine understood.

‘I was so scared…’

‘Do not worry, Peter will be just fine. It will take much more than three-day fever to take him to hospital. He has very strong chi, like his father.’

‘But it can’t protect him from illness.’

‘It can, as a matter of fact. And it will be always protecting him against sorcerers and black magic.’

Caine never knew what to make of the old Master’s words. Every time it felt like he said much more than it appeared at first sight. Young Kwai Chang wondered if he would ever be able to understand.

‘You know more than you tell.’

‘Of course I do, what did you think?’

Ping Hai smiled, and sensed it was time for the toddler to go back to his father. Caine put the little head to rest on his bare chest, and in turn felt the soft, wavy hair with his cheek. This evening’s events reminded him that his son had become the sole meaning of his existence.

‘I mean, you know… about things... about my son, about me…’

‘I may know a few things…’

‘Please, please, Master, tell me!’

‘Why?’

‘So that I may know, especially about Peter…’

‘He’ll be all right.’

‘No, not now… In the future…’

‘He will be all right, Caine, in the future.’

‘You’ve learned so much, haven’t you?’

Ping Hai sighed. ‘The more you learn, the more you know. One must learn only as much as one is ready to know.’

‘I understand.’

Caine blinked but no, he did not understand. This old man  _knew_  about the future and would not tell him. It was a horrible feeling, he felt naked any time the old Shambhala Master looked at him.

‘Tell me, Kwai Chang Caine, if you knew the future ten years from now, or if you knew that your wife would die, what would you do? Would you have married her?’

‘Of course! She was the light of life; she  _was_  my life! She…’ Caine had to stop before another wave of sorrow took over.

‘And…? Would you just sit and watch?’

‘No!’ Peter moved and Caine reminded himself not to speak too loud or move too abruptly.

‘Why don’t you put him in his bed?’

‘He stays with me,’ insisted Caine, and tightened the grip around the sleeping boy. It was a tiger’s grip: very strong and yet tender and protective. Caine wanted… he  _needed_  to feel the little heart beating next to his at any time; to reassure Peter was all right, to draw strength from him and give from his in return.

‘I… could never sit and watch,’ he continued the conversation, ‘I would have done anything to prevent it. And in the future... I would do anything to prevent future tragedies.’

He looked proudly at the Master, convinced he gave the correct answer. In return he received only a pitiful look.

‘And busy to look at and change the future, you would miss the present.’

Caine closed eyes and inhaled deeply, angry at himself. He fell in a trap he had otherwise known how to avoid since he was little.

‘It would not be a life, Caine, it would be existence.’

Kwai Chang sighed. ‘You’re right… as usual. Perhaps it’s better that I don’t know, after all.’

‘You  _will_  know, but when you are ready, when the time is right. … Now, tell me, how would it feel to know what future will bring, five or ten years ahead?’

‘It would have been an impossible burden to carry.’

If Caine knew in advance all the sorrow his life would bring, he would have either gone mad, or simply killed himself. …And why did the old man keep talking about ten years from now? What’s with ten years from now?

Ping Hai shrugged, and lifted one eye-brow.

‘It must be very difficult being you, Master.’

‘It is… heavy, and at times sad. But I was elevated to this level because I was ready. You, too…’ Ping Hai bit his tongue; Caine gave him a questioning look. ‘…will receive your… right of knowledge… when you are ready to carry the load.’

‘My son… I want him to be proud of me.’

‘That will depend on you, young man.’

‘I don’t wish him to see his father like this, to know that I’ve been in this condition. Ever,’ whispered Caine.

‘To know something, Kwai Chang Caine, means also to share… or not to share that knowledge. For both actions there is a price to pay, and we both are going to pay it… depending on our decisions.’

Caine did not understand the warning. ‘I don’t want Peter to know that his father has been this week …drunkard …gambler…’

The old Master sighed and shook head. ‘How much do you own this man, what was his name?..’

‘Dalton, Rocky Dalton.’ He gulped. ‘A thousand dollars.’

Khan, who had positioned himself on a chair behind the two men, ready to be of use any moment, stared with mouth half open. A thousand dollars! This was a fortune, equal to many days of hard work. How could have Mr Caine allowed this to happen? He was usually so wise and considerate; he always seemed to know what to do. Well, used to know…

‘What do you plan to do?’

‘I’ll figure something out… But now I must take care of my son.’

Caine got up, bowed to the Master, and nodded towards his young student.

‘Mike…’

The teenager jumped, and followed the tall man like a puppy. In Peter’s room Caine put his young son in his bed. The temperature was a bit lower now

‘Bring me the mixing bowl and warm some water.’

The boy ran. He felt what was happening was important and every little thing he could contribute with counted. He brought the bowl and in a couple of minutes came with the kettle.

‘Good. Leave it next to me.’

Caine was sitting on the floor, mixing his herbs. His eyes would not leave the little boy. He spoke to Michael without looking at him.

‘You should go now, Michael, go with Ping Hai to the temple, spend the night there.’

‘But… You don’t want me here anymore?’ He was ready to burst into tears.

Caine chuckled. ‘Of course I want you here, but my life isn't yours to live, kid. You’ve got dreams…’

‘I don’t have dreams, I…’

‘You want to be a priest?’ Caine finally looked at the boy. The teenager nodded vigorously. Being a priest has become the anchor of his young life. The timid boy had much love and care to give but so far no one had asked for them.

Caine smiled, and turned his eyes back to the sleeping child.

‘Then you should do what you must to fulfil that dream, and never stray from your path. You’re lucky.’

‘Huh?’ How could a street kid from a broken home be called  _lucky_?

‘You’re so young and already found your path. Follow it.’ There was sadness, and even a little envy in Caine’s voice, but Michael Khan was too young and inexperienced to detect them.

‘Look... I may need your help again, but you should leave here, and perhaps move to the temple permanently.’

Khan felt as he never had in his life, at least not after his father’s death three years ago. He was free, and he was supposed to be happy, but it still did not feel right.

‘What about Pete?’

‘What about him? I’m here.’

The urge to protect others, so typical with potential Shaolin priests, was quite strong with Michael. He had gotten attached to little Peaty and he did not want to leave him here, alone, in this quiet place, with his sad and at times scary father.

‘For how long are you going to be here? ‘Til tomorrow, ‘til next week?’

He did not care if the strong, tall man would get angry, he had to say this.

‘What do you mean, Mike?’ Caine knew what Michael meant.

‘Ping Hai and… and other monks… Th-they say you’re so occupied with a life that had ended, th-that…’ He gulped. ‘…you f-forget about the life that had just begun.’

Having said that Kahn leapt out of the room and sought shelter with Ping Hai. However good at kung fu Caine might have been, he was far from the skills necessary to defeat a Shambhala Master, even if it was someone as old as Ping Hai. He was safe with the old man.

And who could defeat a Shambhala Master anyway?...

However nobody came out of the little room. Nobody went in there, either. Caine heard the front door closing carefully, and knew he had remained alone. He tried not to pay attention to the words but they were echoing in his head. His potion was ready and he tried to suppress the newly emerging tears, at least until he gave the tea to his son.

Caine got up and poured the tea in Peter’s bottle. The toddler was not happy being woken up but the sense of his father’s powerful presence appeased him almost immediately. His father took him in his lap and gave him the bottle. Obediently the boy took it and few minutes later all was gone. Kwai Chang wondered if he had not made too little of the tea. He thought of his son as a two and a half-year old boy, and prepared the relevant amount, but in height and weight Peter was already bigger than most three-year olds.

Kwai Chang kissed his son, and put him back to bed. The man meant to get up and bring more towels and water for the night but Peter stopped him.

‘Pappy...’

‘I’m here, Peaty, I’m here…’

Peter stretched han, and grabbed his father’s nose. The boy’s eyes looked a bit livelier now.

Cane also noted to himself that as soon as Peter recovered he should cut his nails.

‘May I go to the kitchen?’ asked Caine softly, and tried to get up.

‘No,’ replied Peter stubbornly and frowned his little face.

Suddenly Caine got the feeling that his son understood more than the father hoped he did. Or maybe it was just his guilty conscience? Whatever it was, he stayed. Obviously Peter had felt his father’s absence, and was afraid he would leave him again.

Caine kissed the tiny fingers and covered the toddler.

‘I won’t go anywhere, my son, I’ll stay here, OK?’

Peter smiled and closed his eyes with a yawn. Apparently he believed his father and nested comfortably, hugging his panda bear. Kwai Chang looked at his son with eyes overflowing with love and pain. He was cold, with still no shirt on, and he was hungry. But before all he was afraid, or horrified even. He sighed trembling, attempting to control his emotions, and caressed his son.

What if it had been serious? What if the innocent three-day fever had been a much more dangerous illness? And he was not there… What if he had lost Peter, too? There would be no life.

Kwai Chang was shaking now. He leaned back on the side of the little bed and started sobbing with all his heart, very quietly, and for very long. Peter was his legacy, and Laura’s, and he had betrayed her. He betrayed them both.

That night Caine did not sleep. He never put that shirt on, did not eat, did not even visit the bathroom, which at one point became a problem; he meditated, desperately seeking peace for his battered soul. From tender age Kwai Chang Caine had been taught how to block and respond to any strike an opponent might send at him. But no one had showed him how to block and respond to the strikes of life.

 

 

 

*******


	3. Clearance

 

_Ten days later_

  
It was afternoon, shortly after 5pm. It had been the first proper day of the spring, and many people were celebrating the beginning of the weekend either in the park or in any of the two town cafes. The little streets were lively and noisy; pretty much everyone was taking advantage of the warm early evening. And while many used the chance to go out in the fresh air in the company of family or friends, few had hurried straight home.

‘I’ll go now. The stew still needs few minutes, the one in the smaller pot is for Peaty. I put some chicken in it. Little boys should not be deprived of meat, but should not eat too much salt and spices either. He slept tight the whole afternoon; he should be all right for the night as well.’

‘Thank you so much, Mrs Jenkins! …Did he behave well?’

‘Oh, he was an angel… Well, as long as he was asleep… and as long as I didn’t try to tell him what to do.’

‘Yes, Peter doesn’t like being told what to do. …Now, for today I owe you…’

‘What are you doing? No, Heavens, I can’t take money from you, young man!’

‘But…’

‘Look, I’m an ol’ lonely woman, and you’re a young single father who needs all the help he can get. Besides, my girl loves coming along and playing with your little boy.’

‘How’s Sarah, is she… 10th grade?’

‘Eleventh. She’ll be here for the weekend and she wants to prepare some little surprise for Peter, don’t ask me what.’

‘Oh, that... that’s too much. I… Mrs Jenkins, let me at least pay you, you were here the whole day.’

‘Caine… My young, naïve Caine… I’m doing this for you as much as I’m doing it for myself. What else should I do witg my time? Besides, there are quite a few yers until I become grandma, why not take advantage now?’

‘You’re so good, so kind…’

‘I think both of you can use some of that. …How long more do you have at the construction site?’

‘About a week, less perhaps. I still haven’t decided what to do after that.’

‘Don’t worry, things will get better.’

‘I hope so. Thank you again!’

‘No,  _I_  thank you! Have a good weekend; I’ll see you on Monday, right?’

‘Yes, until Monday. Good bye!’

Kwai Chang Caine sighed in relief, and went to the kitchen to check the dinner. There he found two pots with vegetable stew. In the fridge a bowl of coleslaw was waiting for him, as well as six cups of crème caramel. Mrs Jenkins had managed simultaneously to babysit his son, cook for two days ahead, and even put some order in the house. Apparently this woman possessed some magical skills…

Suddenly Caine sensed movement behind him. No one was there when he turned but the subtle sound of little feet, as well as the not-so-subtle sound of broken glass guided him in direction of the living room.

‘Ah…’

The tiny but energetic figure of his son was trying to reach for Caine’s flute, carefully hung high above an armchair. As for the tea-cup which Mrs Jenkins had used only minutes ago, it was no more.

‘Come here, little monster.’

Kwai Chang playfully lifted his two-year-old in the air. He badly missed Peter during every minute he had to be away from him, and in the evenings he wanted to catch up. Caine meant to put Peter on his shoulders and make a few circles round the house but the toddler suddenly started screaming.

‘Oh, Peter, I’m sorry. Shh... shhhh… it’s OK, son, it’s OK, there, you’re down.’

He sat on the couch, and put Peter on his lap. He caressed the boy’s little back and then massaged his tiny hands.

‘I’m sorry, Peaty, Daddy’s very sorry!’ He kissed the dark-blond head. ‘I forgot… Oh, I forgot…’

He cradled Peter for a while and the vivid memory of the accident quickly came back to him.

It happened literally days before Laura died. Her condition had unexpectedly improved and she felt so invigorated that she decided to take Peter to the Fair. Caine agreed under the condition that Michael went with them. He planned to fix the house a bit, and prepare it for the late-winter storms but only two hours later Mike came back breathless. Laura had collapsed just when they went on the Ferry’s Wheel. Peter has been in shock but stayed with her, as she was conscious now and wanted to have him next to her as long as possible.

The ‘as long as possible’ lasted four days.

‘Pappy…’

The flashback dispersed like a mist and Kwai Chang returned to reality. He decided it was not worth ruining the afternoon and carefully lifted his son. He was holding Peter tight next to his chest and so they had their round-the-house tour, roaring like car engines. The game ended in Peter’s room with a long round of giggles, tickling and fighting. And since Peter won the fight, of course, Caine was lying on the ground with his son comfortably riding his chest. Victoriously the boy was trying to imitate some of the moves he had seen his father make while practicing, just to make sure that everybody understood who the winner was.

‘I give up, I give up.’ He laughed, and rested head on his hands, lovingly observing Peter.

Every day his little son was changing a bit, growing heavier at least, and every day he resembled Laura more. It was almost unbelievable that by some caprice of nature practically none of Caine’s features had been imprinted in his son, apart from the shape of the eyes and the nose. Peter definitely had a Caine-nose. Everything else was to Laura, and, as Kwai Chang began to notice with slight worry, her uncontrolable temper including.

Next Caine reflected on the past ten days. It seemed like another life, that evening when for a few horrible minutes he thought he would lose Peter, when Mike told him those heavy but truthful words, and when he had that strange conversation with Ping Hai. After that night Peter’s condition improved and in 48 hours he was back to his usual lively self.

Monks were dropping by frequently, usually leaving some fruits and herbs, and lots of goodwill. However neither Ping Hai, nor Michael came back. Caine found work at the building construction that was renovating the Library. Mrs Jenkins, an elderly woman who had become mother in the mid-40s, was his closest neighbour, and she kindly offered her help with Peter while Caine worked. His job paid well, since he worked for two and earned for two. He was saddened that one quite unstable worker, Vance Cavanaugh, had been fired and he took his place. He felt for that angry and apparently very lonely man.

One such working day Michael had come to collect his belongings, and moved permanently to the temple. Kwai Chang had not been there; he would not come home before 5, often later. But at least he managed to save a small fortune. He even put aside $150 to start paying back his gambling debt. Not that he was afraid of the men Rocky Dalton would send after him if he did not, actually  _they_  were the once who would rather have nothing to do with him and his hands and feet, but he feared about Peter’s safety.

So, for now Caine could check $200 off his debt and had work for at least 4 more days. But should nothing else come up after that, he would have to go to San Francisco, and he was not looking forward to moving there. Somehow since he met Laura, Kwai Chang re-discovered his love for peace and tranquillity, and those were not easily found in the big city.

Peter was getting restless and once again he drew his father from the firm grasp of his flashbacks. Caine got up and together they went to the kitchen where the stew was simmering. He turned the heating off, and prepared to serve dinner, still holding Peter in his arms. It was not very practical, working with just one hand, but with no other adult in the house, his romping son was not to be trusted alone around, so he had to carry him.

Just as he was going to fill the plates a knock on the door echoed in the quiet evening. There were men outside, two or three, and he had not sensed them. Was he so distracted that he did not sense even that?

Caine hesitated. He was still shattered by the loss of his wife, still too confused and uncertain to trust his instincts, so he could not tell whether these were friends or enemies. The young man brought Peter to his room. After a quick look around he made sure there was nothing dangerous nearby, then he closed the door and went to open the other one.

‘Good evening, young Caine! Do you have some time for a short visit?’

Kwai Chang almost leapt with joy. It was Ping Hai! He had perceived the old Master was offended or even disappointed by his young student’s behaviour. Now that he was here, Caine thought maybe it was not too late for reconciliation.

‘Master!... No, no, of course not, we were just about to have dinner. Come in…’

‘Actually, there is someone here who particularly wishes to see you. May he come in?’

‘But of course. If you just excuse me for a second... Please, do come in.’

The man hurried back to Peter’s room. He wanted to speak to the old Master but he feared Peter would not like the idea. He checked on his son, and was glad to see the boy busy with his crayons… and the wall. It did not matter; the young father had already mastered almost to perfection the art of cleaning mysterious stains off any sorts of surfaces. Some crayons on the wall were a trifle.

Caine left the door slightly open, and went back to the living room. Upon entering, however, he froze in amazement. Ping Hai had not mentioned who exactly wanted to see him and now the guest was looking warmly at him. Caine felt like thunder had struck him. There, in his living room, in this God-forsaken place, in the house of a wretched, insignificant widower, was the Dalai Lama!

‘Good evening, Kwai Chang Caine!’

Caine tried to speak but he feared if he said something it would be wrong. He thought if he moved it would be wrong. Right now he was feeling guilty for breathing.

He tried again. ‘H-hi!’

Ping Hai was standing to the side, grinning in content. The Holy Man’s unexpected arrival had had just the effect he hoped it would and now he could almost see his young student willingly taking the path intended for him, a path he had strayed from quite a bit already.

‘Please, do not be so scared, I am simply a man.’

‘I…’ Caine did not think of anything to say, and just bowed and approached. The next thing he did was to kiss the Dalai Lama’s hand. ‘Thank you!’

‘For what?’

What for indeed?

‘For… being here, for… being.’

The Dalai Lama laughed heartily. ‘That was the sweetest and simplest reason someone had ever thanked me for. Kwai Chang Caine, I find you just the man I expected, pure and noble.’

Noble? Pure?! Caine felt like a piece of scum.

‘Please, will you join me on the couch… your couch?’

Ping Hai had already nested in the armchair. He did not intend to interfere in the conversation, just to observe it. The third monk that had accompanied them was kindly asked to watch on Peter and try, if possible, to give him his dinner. From the small pot.

‘I… Uhm… What have I done to deserve such honour, Your Holiness?’ Caine did not know where to look.

‘I guess you know about me...’ asked the Dalai Lama playfully.

‘Of course…’ answered Caine quietly.

‘Well, Kwai Chang, I think you will be surprised that I have heard about you perhaps at least as much as you have heard about me.’

Caine lifted head sharply. ‘I beg you a pardon?’

His guest laughed even louder at this sudden change of mood. ‘Now, that is better. I do not want you to be afraid or intimidated by me, Kwai Chang. You feel uneasy, and that makes me feel awkward as well.’

‘Forgive me, Your Holiness!’ Caine looked down but quickly remembered that the Holy Man just asked him not to do that, so he lifted head back up, and tried to compose himself.

‘I know a great deal about your family.’

‘Yes…’ Of course, his  _family_.

‘In China, legends are still told of the remarkable healing skills of your father, of your grand-father’s courage…’

‘I am afraid there is a great shame weighing on the Caine line.’

‘That depends on where you look at it. I do not like blaming people for what their ancestors did, or did not do.’

Caine felt mildly invigorated. The Dalai Lama had practically just said that the curse staining his family name was of no consequence to him. Kwai Chang was very close to hugging his special guest.

‘But when I say your family, I do not just mean the Caine name alone, I mean the line that eventually took the name Caine. It is a line… as old as the Shaolin itself, is it not?’

‘Uhm…’ Kwai Chang had heard stories. He knew his little name, for instance, appeared often in his family, and that the first Kwai Chang must have lived around the time when the Shaolin was established. But those were mostly legends, folklore; there was no historical evidence to give weight to them.

‘I… had heard stories…’

‘But you are not certain if they are true? Does it matter?’

‘Well… If I tell people that our line is as old as the Shaolin, they will want proof. I… don’t have such proof.’

‘People’s opinion matters so much to you?’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean…’ He shook head. Kwai Chang was quickly sobering up from the shock of being visited by the Dalai Lama.

‘I guess… I need proof… for myself… No, not for the people, for myself.’

‘For yourself? Why?’

‘Because then I would be certain of our heritage, and I would be certain when someday I pass that heritage to my son. I would know that what I tell him is true.’

‘But, Kwai Chang, you  _have_  already passed that heritage to your son.’

‘How?’

‘By… becoming his father?’

Caine smiled. ‘Yes. I meant… by passing the knowledge of who we are.’

‘Do you possess that knowledge?’

‘No, not for certainty. I… I need to learn more.’

‘It would be sad indeed if you are more certain in your ancestor’s crime than in your ancestors’ merits.’

A cold wave ran through Caine’s face. He closed eyes briefly and nodded. ‘Yes, sad indeed.’

The Dalai Lama put hand on Caine’s shoulder.

‘Take pride in your name, Kwai Chang Caine. Take pride in you heritage, both good and bad, for it can only be useful to you. Learn from it, remember it! …Honour it!’

Caine’s eyes were widening with every word from the Dalai Lama, and in the end he felt as empowered as he had not been in many months.

‘You do me great honour in taking attention in me, Your Holiness! You expose yourself to great risk by coming here. I fear, however, that I’m not as worthy as you consider me to be.’

‘Are you not?’

‘I… I do come from a line of great men, but I’m merely a shadow, a… failure.’ He bent head and tried to conceal the wetness in his eyes.

‘If my grand-father has brought any shame to our name, I’ve doubled it.’

‘My dear Kwai Chang, I will not argue your judgement.’ The Dalai Lama looked softly at the sad face opposite him. ‘I do not know what you see every day when you look at the mirror, but all I see in front of me right now, is a man bereft with grief, who is trying to get back to life. Unfortunately it is a sight I have seen once too often.’

He paused and squeezed Caine’s hand. ‘But nowhere in this house do I see a man that I would call a “failure”, least of all a “shame”.’

This said the Dalai Lama got up from his seat. He meant to meet with the man for a short time only, in an attempt to plant the seed of hope that should grow into a nourishing well of knowledge. He knew he would need to meet with this sad lonely man at least once again, and he looked forward to it. He had almost never met a man with soul as pure as this poor widower’s, and he wanted to get to know that soul better.

Ping Hai called the monk who was with Peter during that time. Then he approached Caine.

‘I believe, this meeting was… enlightening?’

‘It was invigorating.’

‘Has anything changed in your perception of things? I can feel your chi altering, Kwai Chang Caine.’

It was either Ping Hai’s quite un-Shambhala like impatience, or Caine’s innate sagacity, but the young man suddenly felt like he was being set up, and took his usual defensive position.

‘Well, I’m still the same single father who needs to provide for his son as I used to be ten minutes ago. The past is still the same, the present is still sad, and the future – as uncertain as future can possibly be.’

Caine glared at Ping Hai with a certain severity, hinting at him that the attempt to lure him up there on the plateau had failed. Yet again.

‘I understand,’ bowed the old man. He regretted his haste. ‘I just wanted to remind you that our doors will always be open for you, Kwai Chang Caine, should you need.’

‘I know. As I knew it all ten times before that.’ He looked wryly at his Master.

‘Actually they were thirteen,’ added Ping Hai playfully. He may have not succeeded this time, but at least he was again on close terms with Caine, which was a good sign, too.

In that moment the young monk they were waiting for came out of Peter’s room. He was a curious sight. Upon arrival he must have had a normal, clean, saffron-coloured robe. Once he was done with Peter, or when Peter was done with him, to be more accurate, the robe resembled a cloth from Peggy’s diner on Main after rush hour.

Greasy spots of all shapes and sizes were proudly stretching along the front, as well as on the sleeves. There were dried traces of sauce round his face which he clumsily had tried to wipe. The endeavour had not been that successful, unfortunately, as a tiny bit of parsley was still stuck on his shaved temple. The young man was walking with head up and as proudly as he could. Which only added to his pitiful look.

A long fat peace of paprika was lying on his right arm somehow beautifully adding to the transparent ring of onion on the left one. In his right hand the monk was holding an empty bowl and a spoon. One might initially think that the contents of the bowl have been all eaten up, had it not been for the quite obvious fact that at least half of those contents were somewhere along, in or out of his robe’s right sleeve. The young priest should have probably headed straight for the door. He held still, however, to leave the empty bowl in the hands of a very amused Kwai Chang Caine. Just then that lonely piece of onion that had been hanging from the edge of his sash finally fell. The potato and the few pieces of carrots that were hiding between the robe’s folds, however, preferred to stay there and enjoy the ride, loudly manifesting their presence.

At first Ping Hai was amazed at the look of his disciple. Caine was ashamed in the beginning but he immediately felt better when he saw the unconcealed amusement on the Dalai Lama’s face.

‘I hope all went well, Master Fong?’

‘Yes, Your Holiness. Shall we go?’

The men headed for the door and Caine could safely allow his shoulders to start shaking with the suppressed laughter. The stern Ping Hai was not amused at all, even when Kwai Chang offered to take care of the ruined robe, and hurried to leave. Only the Dalai Lama gladly shared Caine’s animated mood.

‘I believe we will meet soon again, Kwai Chang Caine! I was glad to see you, at last.’

‘The honour was mine, Your Holiness!’

They bowed at each other and finally left alone, Kwai Chang could let his voice out. The ridiculous look of the monk and the joy from the surprising visit of this holy man blended in a loud laughter. He laughed to tears as he hurried for Peter’s room. There Caine lifted his son and danced with him around. He felt light, he felt blessed. Neither the coloured wall, nor the fact that the room’s floor looked like the monk’s robe, could ruin Kwai Chang’s mood. He kissed his son, and together they headed for the kitchen.

Caine’s attempt to feed Peter was far more successful, for there was no such attempt in the first place. Ever since he started walking, young Peter Caine had been adamant about doing everything on his own. As soon as he learned to do something alone, nobody was ever allowed to do it for him. That included eating, and Kwai Chang figured that is what might have befallen the poor monk: his son’s anger after being given something he could well manage by himself.

Now Peter had his own plastic cutlery, and he even knew how to cut with his little plastic knife. His father had noticed that the boy tended to use mostly his left hand but did not try to change that, opposing to many other parents of the time. So Peter was already drinking from a cup, making first attempst to brush his teeth, he was even getting dressed alone. Last evening the older Caine wanted to help the toddler with his tangled pyjamas, and in return received a mean bite.

Now the two Caines were sitting at the table, Peter comfortably nested in his kiddie chair. They were having their deserts and like every doting parent Caine could not stop marvelling the little man he was raising. Every once in a while he would stretch and caress Peter’s cheek, or his head, and each time his son would grant him a broad shining smile. Little Peaty never resisted any sorts of affection display from his only parent, which is why probably he did not mind being carried. Well, Peter did not allow anybody else to carry him, but it was all right if Daddy did it.

‘Do you want more juice?’

‘Yes, pease.’

‘Do you mean  _please_?’

‘Yes, pease.’

Caine smiled and got up. He never attempted to baby-talk with Peter. Almost from day one both he and Laura regarded their new-born as a proper member of the household and felt like they would undermine his intelligence if they used ‘goo-goo’ and ‘boo-boo’ to communicate with him.

The happy father poured some more blueberry juice in the small plastic cup, and observed how two little hands stretched, grabbed the cup, took a quiet sip and then carefully left the cup back to its place. Purple moustaches formed round the corners of the little mouth.

Kwai Chang was endlessly proud with his son. Though half of the next day would pass in cleaning and mopping, he somehow loved the idea that years of Shaolin training and practice as a priest had not been enough for Master Fong to tame Peter. After all, he thought, if you can handle a Shaolin priest before you are three, you have a good chance to turn out well in this life.

 

*******


	4. Hope

  
On Sunday morning Kwai Chang prepared for going out. He had his satchel on, followed by a green bag-pack full of anything a two-and-a-half-year old boy may need for an outing. The bag was heavy.

Caine went to the living room but Peter was not there. As if he expected it, he made a bored face and went to the kitchen. The cherry pie Sarah Jenkins had brought for Peter the day before was still there, apart from a missing corner. All Kwai Chang had to do now was follow the deep-red trace on the floor.

‘I wonder how much professional cleaners earn…’

Slightly annoyed he followed the lead but all annoyance evaporated once he discovered his son. Peter was outside the bedroom. His face was covered in cherry filling and few deep-red hand prints were splattered on the white door.

‘Mamma?’

‘Oh, Peter…’

Caine kneeled next to Peter, and tried to lift him but the boy resisted.

‘Mamma, wan’ mamma.’

The little boy hit the door once or twice more, visibly puzzled that it would not open, as the trick usually worked with all other doors in the house. Peter was looking up as much as his little neck could allow; he was upset and angry. He pushed with two hands.

‘Mamma…’

He looked at his father for help and Caine ceased the moment to lift his son and leave the place immediately. Peter started crying. Unlike the other times before that, however, he was not hysterical, there was no kicking or biting, just crying. This was the last trace of the innocent but deep grief the child felt after his mother inexplicably disappeared from his life.

This time Kwai Chang did not try to appease the boy. Without saying a word he brought him to the bathroom to clean him, and then prepared to leave. He preferred not to speak because he still needed consolation himself.

The bedroom had remained locked since the day Laura died. After she collapsed at the fair, the doctors had only declared that it was a matter of days, if not hours, so both she and her husband preferred to have her at home. Those days she barely had strength to go to the bathroom. All four nights the whole family slept together on the big bed, the same bed Caine had made with his own hands.

After Laura passed, Ping Hai had taken care of the body personally, of the funeral ceremony, and generally took care of it all. Kwai Chang stayed with Peter the whole time; he was desperate, and clung to his young son as the drowning man clings to a straw.

Caine had been very close to not attending the funeral itself. He wanted to remember his beloved angel as a living and breathing thing, not a soulless body stuck in a box. Ping Hai advised to have the cascet closed so that Laura’s image may remain clean in the hearts of Kwai Chang and Peter. The widower agreed. In the end he only observed a light-brown coffin being laid in the grave by the lake, in the vicinity of the temple. In this way Caine allowed himself to believe that this coffin had nothing to do with his wife, that Laura was not in it, that this was all a hoax. It was easier to think of her as being alive and watching over him and their son, rather than being dead and gone forever.

The door shut, and Kwai Chang and Peter left. Peter had relaxed and at present enjoyed the warm sun beams and all curious sights that a walk to the woods had to offer. His father was moody but he knew it would pass. He left the house without turning back. The bedroom was now only the place where he kept his clothes and other belongings. He was sleeping in Peter’s room or in the living room. No going back inside that mausoleum.

‘Look, Peaty, flowers. Shall we pick flowers?’

‘Yes,’ exclaimed Peter and exited ran to pick flowers.

The road towards the temple was a beautiful one, and the more one went up, the greater the floral variety was. Peter was enjoying himself immensely. He felt free outdoors and ran free. Most of those outings his father spent in running after him, half-wild with worry that his rambunctious son would get hurt or lost. This time he felt centred and for the first time it was as if instinctively he knew that Peter was all right and close to him. So he collected his own bouquet entirely of yellow flowers and within an hour they arrived at the temple grounds.

Kwai Chang lifted Peter and they headed towards the lake.

‘There, put you flowers there.’

‘ _My_  fla’s!’

‘We’ll pick more on the way back, we’ll pick better ones. There, I leave mine, too. You see?’

Peter obeyed. He carefully left his little bouquet by the red grave stone, and nestled against his father’s arms. He did not like it there, nor did Caine.

‘Mr Caine…’

‘Mike!’ Caine turned and was happy to see Michael Kahn again.

As he was a complete beginner, the teen had started as a secular student. He looked even taller with shaved head and Caine detected the discomfort typical for disciples who are still getting used to the lack of hair.

‘I’m glad to see you, Michael. How are you?’ Kwai Chang patted Kahn on the shoulder.

‘Mikey, Mikey!’ Peter was glad to see him, too.

‘I’m well… Tired.’

‘Ha, I am certain of it. You’ll get used to it.’

‘I doubt it…’ The boy moved his aching shoulders. His knuckles were bruised, his arms were covered by blue spots, and generally every inch of his body hurt.

‘You’ll see. At present your body’s still controlling _you_. When you learn to control it, pain won’t matter to you anymore.’

‘Isn’t that the moment when I become a priest?’

‘Nearly there, yes.’

Caine smiled softly, and gently slapped Kahn’s jaw with his fist.

Kahn looked abashed, apparently still ashamed of what he told Caine two weeks ago. As if Kwai Chang sensed that, he hugged Michael.

‘Everything's OK, Mike, everything's OK.’

Kahn grinned. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, and looked Caine with big puppy eyes.

Peter was in a mood and poked his older friend.

‘Can I take Pete for a walk?’

‘All right, but hold him the whole time, and stay away from the water.’

‘We’ll go to the temple, I want to show him where I sleep.’

Caine hesitated. Suddenly he felt like he was getting a claustrophobic attack. He took a deep breath and tried to control himself.

‘OK, but come back in fifteen minutes. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mr Caine, fifteen minutes.’

The two boys disappeared off his sight and Caine decided to take the chance and walk around a bit. He thought he should be fine as long as he kept away from the temple. The grounds were beautiful, the day – warm. He needed to figure out what to do.

Saturday evening Mr Roberts, his supervisor, had called to inform him that their work at the construction site would definitely be over on Friday. Caine was nervous and confused. He had to watch over his spendings and decided to skip going to the pub next week. The six-pack he had at home should suffice for now.

A saffron-coloured robe flashed through the trees. Kwai Chang stopped, and waited for its owner to approach. He smiled and bowed. This time meeting the Dalai Lama did not catch him off guard.

‘Good morning, Kwai Chang Caine!’

‘Your Holiness!’

The two men greeted and Caine was a bit surprised when the Dalai Lama held his hand like they were old friends.

‘I am happy to see you here.’

‘I… I came to “visit” my wife.’

‘I am certain you have a lot to say to her.’

‘I always do.’

‘I was just going back to the temple; the noon service is about to begin. Would you like to accompany me?’

‘Your Holiness, please forgive me, but I can’t.’

The Dalai Lama, who was quite shorter than Kwai Chang, lifted head and looked him in the eyes.

‘What is that you are afraid of, Kwai Chang? Master Ping Hai told me that you have never seen the temple.’

‘I  _have_  seen it… from… the outside.’

‘But never came to visit?’

‘No, no, never.’

‘Is it not the Shaolin temple where you are at home?’

‘Right now I’m nowhere at home.’

Caine turned gaze and blankly stared at the panorama before him. He had wandered a bit and walked to a level slightly higher than the lake and now had a beautiful view over the forest around and most of the lake itself.

‘Yes, you need time to heal. But time heals, Caine, you have to believe this.’

Caine forced a smile. ‘I’ve heard so.’

‘You know, entering the temple does not mean staying there.’

‘I know. I… I’m not ready yet.’

‘I have to go, Kwai Chang.’

The Dalai Lama put hand on Caine’s arm and the young man immediately felt a wave of heat and calmness spreading through his body.

‘You said you have no home. Remember, my young friend, that the home is always where the heart is.’

Having said this, the older man bowed and left. Caine remained motionless for a while and then hurried down the road, realizing that Mike and Peter should be back by now.

*****

_One week later_

  
Kwai Chang Caine was searching for his path. At least he needed a sign, any sign, that would point to him where to go and what to do. For now all that Fate gave him was some more time to think.

He had been given a few-day job at the mayor’s house. When the work at the Library was finished, Mr Roberts had secured him some more business at the Mayor’s. The town leader, Mr Townsend, took personal interest in Caine’s case. He hired the man and quickly got convinced in his skill. He was also paying him far more than he should but it made him feel all right with himself. Besides he did not care about the hourly market price of good working hand.

Wednesday afternoon Caine was invited by Ping Hai for tea at the temple. The young man refused, as usual, so it was agreed that the meeting would take place in his house.

After work Kwai Chang got home and set to prepare the tea. Peter left together with Mrs Jenkins and his father was to pick him up not later than 7 pm. The guests arrived at 5:30.

It came without saying that the Dalai Lama would be present. But Caine was surprised to see Master Kwan, the abbot of the temple.

‘It has been a while, Kwai Chang.’

‘Yes… Master Kwan, I’m honoured. Please, take a seat.’

‘I see you prepared a special tea, Kwai Chang Caine.’ Ping Hai immediately poured to the guests and to himself. ‘It is… an old favourite of mine.’ He grinned and took a sip.

‘I know, Master, I remember that.’

Caine enquired after the affairs of the temple, how many students there were there, when the temple was built. He was merely trying to be polite; he still had no intention in joining.

‘Kwai Chang, is there anything I can say in order to persuade you at least to come and visit me at the temple?’ Until now the Dalai Lama had not said almost anything and his frank question startled Caine.

‘But You Holiness, I… I already know most of the students; I’ve seen the temple grounds… And I’m having frequent visitors, too…’

‘No, Kwai Chang, you misunderstand, I meant I want to invite you as  _my_  personal guest.’

Caine did not understand why everyone was so anxious to make him go up there. Was it because he was Shaolin, too? Well, he was not… not really…

‘Your Holiness…’ He was trapped.  _This_  offer he could not refuse. ‘Your Holiness, I’ll be honoured.’

Caine looked anxiously at Ping Hai.

‘Do not worry, Kwai Chang, I will not be around,’ added the old Master and sipped more tea.

‘You all have taken such interest in my life; I’m feeling guilty for all the hustle.’

‘You are our brother, Caine, we are not going to leave you alone when you need us,’ answered Master Kwan, and patted Caine’s shoulder.

‘But I  _do not_  wish to join the temple, I’m certain of it!’ Caine emphasized on his lack of interest in joining the temple. ‘I don’t want you to waste time bothering with me; I’ll feel like I’m betraying you.’

‘Kwai Chang,’ started Kwan, ‘you have been outside so long that you have forgotten what the Shaolin stands for.’

Caine’s sides flushed with embarrassment.

‘We are not selling you goods, we are helping. Your path is yours to take wherever you wish. But now you need a strong shoulder to lean on, and we are here to be that shoulder. You are not going to betray anyone if you do not join us.’

Master Kwan spoke with great seriousness. Caine’s words had obviously hurt him and Kwai Chang felt more than ever that he was anything but worthy even to be in the same room with these men, what remains for calling himself their “brother”.

It was agrranged that Caine was going to meet with the Dalai Lama Saturday noon. Friday was going be his last working day for the Mayor and he was going to have plenty of time after that.

The monks left earlier than expected. Master Kwan and the Dalai Lama were discussing how grief can consume one’s soul, sharing memories of people they have helped and a few they have failed to do so. Ping Hai was silent. The evening had gone wrong, very wrong. He could not understand how even the Dalai Lama could not convince Kwai Chang Caine of what was the right path for him. This ruined man was so badly searching for his way that he had not noticed the bright glittering sign that was practically shouting it at him.

At the temple Ping Hai split from his brethren and disappeared into a room in the part of the temple that was forbidden for students. Anxious for his friend, about an hour later, the Dalai Lama sought the old Master. In the room he found three stands with books on them; Ping Hai was leaning above the middle one, shaking head. The old man was genuinely worried.

‘You are troubled, my friend.’

Ping Hai closed the book and put a circular transparent pendant round his neck.

‘Sometimes I wonder why is that I have all this knowledge if there is nothing I can do.’ He sounded bitter.

‘I admire your strength, Ping Hai. The task that lies before you seems impossible to carry.’

‘ _My_  task? I am responsible only for one family; you have millions that count on you.’

‘But all I have to do is guide them, give them hope, set example. You, my friend, what you had to do, what you  _will_  be required to do… I have never been required to do something like that. I would not be capable of doing it.’

‘My family has been protecting the line of Kwai Chang since the dawn of the Shaolin…’

He finally turned and looked his spiritual leader with eyes full of pain.

‘…since the very beginning of kung fu. I am… a pebble in the stream. … But… let say that if we believed in Hell as Christians do, my soul would have been doomed to eternal damnation for what I did… and for what I will have to do...’

‘You will have to forget completely your human emotions…’

‘…And do something monstrous that should eventually morph into something good. Yes…’ Ping Hai bent head and swallowed through the ball in his throat. Sometimes he cursed his destiny.

The Dalai Lama grabbed the older man by the arms. ‘You have my full support, Ping Hai. Should you need something…’

‘You... are aware that your own life depends on father and son Caine, is that right?’

‘My friend, I am… just one man. One day I will be gone and another will follow. I matter little.’ He took Ping Hai by the arm and together they headed for the door. ‘Have you ever considered… telling Caine…?’

‘…That the existence of his line and of the Shaolin itself lies in the hands of his son?! No, that… is out of the question. …It will put too much pressure on him, and in turn he will force that pressure on Peter. It would destroy them both.’

‘How much time is there left… according to the Book?’

‘A bit over 28 years.’

‘I understand.’

Ping Hai grinned. ‘There is a reason why such knowledge is accessible only to Shambhala Masters,’ he said and closed the heavy door. ‘When he is ready, Kwai Chang Caine will learn.’

‘But until then… I fear I will not be enough to show him.’

‘There is nothing else we can do, Your Holiness.’

‘You can.’

‘Heh, my powers have not been given to me to misuse them. I cannot interfere, I can only protect… and guide. Alas, my skills and knowledge here are useless. All we can do is wait...’

‘…And hope.’

‘And hope.’

 

*******


	5. Vision

 

Caine tried to remember the last time he had been so nervous. The day Peter was born, perhaps? Oh, yes, that’s about right…

The memory came to him as he was pacing up the road to the temple. It all happened on a stormy night of an unusually warm autumn. Heavy rain, thunders, wind, an earthquake!…

God, the earthquake!

Caine smiled when he realized that the description fits equally well both the weather conditions of the morning his son was born and his temper. He had prepared tea that was supposed to ease Laura’s pain and give her strength but eventually he ended up drinking most of it, as apparently he was the one who needed help more. She did without his herbs.

And what hell of a job she did! Ten hours of suffering no male can imagine, and she held her composure like nobody else could. She did not utter a sound, not single a moan of pain. Kwai Chang had always thought that there was something childishly immature left in his young wife, which he did not mind, of course, but the last bit of immaturity was gone forever the moment the first contractions came.

Caine paused. He had arrived by the lake. The man kneeled and placed a fresh bouquet of yellow flowers by the grave. He caressed the slab and sunk back into his beautiful flashback.

At the end of those long hours Kwai Chang had thought that the exhaustion after the whole routine of the Shaolin training was nothing in comparison to this.  _He_  could not take it any longer, and after ten hours of labour pains the actual work had not even started for Laura. But she seemed to possess some inexhaustible source of energy that kept giving more and more; both Kwai Chang and his unborn son fed on it.

When the moment came he had sat behind her so that she could lean on him allowing her to feel safe and strong. It was just after 6 am. The storm was at its peak and as if that was not enough, an earthquake occurred. Not that earthquakes are something unique for California, but the coincidence was remarkable, or so Ping Hai thought. It lasted for about a minute but just enough to welcome Peter Caine’s first breath of air into this world. Kwai Chang still remembered every detail of that morning, the single greatest thing that has ever happened to him.

It was like the world came to a standstill. The first look at his new-born baby; the moment the doctor put him on Laura’s chest; her tears;  _his_  tears; the first moment he felt his son’s still wet and so soft skin. Kwai Chang and Laura always liked to say they loved each other so much they simply failed to find the words, or the actions, to express their love. And now it was staring at them, their love. Their love had suddenly taken shape, and voice, and face… Cuddling in Laura’s arms, their love was looking at them, and it was smiling.

Caine leaned and kissed the stone.

‘Thank you, my love!’

This was what he had told her first thing after Peter was born, ‘Thank you’. Then the young father took his baby for the first time and froze. This little bundle was  _his_  son, the son of Kwai Chang Caine. Everything else in the world suddenly felt incredibly far away, incredibly small and meaningless. Nothing else mattered anymore but the tiny creature in his arms.

Kwai Chang could not take his eyes off his new-born. ‘He’s so little,’ he had said, and Laura had looked at him fiercely and answered, ‘Little? He didn’t seem little to me!..’ Then he had given the baby back to his mother and they just looked at him, marvelling the little miracle they had created. Since then it had become their favourite activity to watch over their sleeping son. Whether in his cot or in one of his parents’ arms, they would just take their time and… look at him, making sure that nothing would disturb his sleep.

Abruptly Caine jumped and approached the water. He was feeling nauseous. The devastated man looked at the sky wondering whether the dead really go there, and whether they really watch over their loved ones from above. He thought… and he prayed… and he hoped… And he promised to himself that he would wait for as long as possible, that he would give anything…  _almost_  anything just to be able to sit together with Laura again, and watch over the sleep of their little boy. No matter when, no matter where.

Kwai Chang wiped the wetness off his eyes and hurried up the plateau. He was nervous. He felt like a wild beast being lured into a trap. The young man was afraid that if he got once in there, he would never leave. And he could not imagine himself stranded up there. No, he loved life… once upon time... all the wonders it offered. Giving that up? What for?

‘Welcome, Kwai Chang!’

The Dalai Lama and Master Kwan welcomed their young guest. The abbot could not hide his content.

‘Your Holiness! Master Kwan!’

‘I am really glad to see you here, Kwai Chang! Please, excuse Master Kwan, he has errands to run.’

Master Kwan bowed and disappeared in the depths of the temple. Caine was standing in the yard, completely petrified.

‘Kwai Chang, welcome to this unique place!’

The distant smell of incense had already reached him. Long forgotten memories of his own temple creapt in, of the soldiers that destroyed it, of his father. His strong father… How much he dreamt to be like his father back then.

‘It… It’s a Shaolin temple, as I remember them from China, but it has character, I can see that.’

The Dalai Lama laughed as he led the way inside. Caine turned nervously to make sure that he knew where the exit was, should he need to run. He felt like running right now, for instance…

‘No, I meant, it is unique for the country.’

‘But there are a couple of Buddhist temples in the North... Well, yes, I see, it’s the only Shaolin temple here, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Kwai Chang, it is the only temple of its kind in all North America. …It is here that you may find the peace and clarity that you seek.’

Caine did not feel at ease with people that could look through him like an open book.

‘Nah, I couldn’t stand the solitude, the discipline.’ He remembered those well and he definitely did not want to get back to them.

They kept walking through halls where students were practicing. Many of them would turn after the two men, and not merely to take a look at the Dalai Lama. Kwai Chang Caine was well known for his skills as a healer, and perhaps even better known for his skills as a sifu.

‘Oh, discipline is merely a habit, and solitude is something you carry deep above the core of your being.’

Kwai Chang felt naked. Solitude! That faithful companion of the Caine men that did not seem willing to let go of the young man.

‘You are at war with yourself.’

The Dalai Lama had observed patiently his young friend. He only got convinced in what he already knew, and he thought carefully of what words maybe, _maybe_ would touch Caine and make him reconsider the path he had taken.

‘How long has it been since the death of your wife?’

Kwai Chang sighed and bent head. He looked like a guilty school student. But he simply feared that the overwhelming sorrow from earlier would take over him again, and he did not want to embarrass himself in front of the Holy Man.

‘Three months.’

‘The grief that you feel must be dispelled… so that it may have chance to metamorphosise…’

‘Into what?’

Caine was still angry about… everything. Another woman lost, another boy of the Caine family that was going to grow without motherly love. He felt annoyed, too, for his sorrow was only for himself, and obviously he did not feel like sharing it even with his spiritual leader.

‘Memories change with regret, then reflections filled with deep joy.’

Just as Kwai Chang was wondering where to find that  _deep joy_  the Dalai Lama changed the subject and hit Caine straight in the heart.

‘How old is your son?’

‘Two years,’ shrugged Caine and felt growing discomfort.

‘Two…’ The old man smiled softly. ‘Then, is this not the place he should come, learn and grow?’

Kwai Chang laughed at the thought of his energetic little boy roaming around the rooms of the temple, driving Ping Hai and the other monks crazy.

‘I can think of… nowhere better,’ he said and looked around.

A heavy curtain had been lifted. He saw… all of a sudden, he saw what he had been doing all this time.

Consumed by grief, confused by the lack of direction in his life, Kwai Chang Caine was thinking of himself and himself only. Never did he consider that there was another person in this world who depended on him entirely, and whose needs were far more important than Caine’s. The overpowering feeling that nothing in this world matters more than Peter had been buried under piles of unbearable grief.

Until now.

‘Please, think about it.’

Think about what? There has been another change of subject only Caine did not comprehend when. He only saw the Dalai Lama taking the pendant hanging on his neck and placing it in his hand.

‘Kwai Chang, I wish to give you something.’ The Dalai Lama held firmly Caine’s hand as he put the pendant in it. It was a reassuring grasp, a soothing one, too, and Caine felt like a lost child that has finally been found by a strong and responsible adult.

He could not refuse the pendant, though he felt utterly undeserving of it. ‘I’ll… I’ll try… to be worthy of this gift.’ He was trying to find the meaning behind all this.

‘It is nothing,’ shook head the older man. ‘Speak to me further. I have much to learn from you.’

Caine thought a thunder had struck him. Was this a joke? Because it was very cruel!... How could the Dalai Lama  _ever_  have  _anything_  to learn from him, a little, insignificant man?

‘You are a teacher.’

‘Nah.’

The Dalai Lama smiled as he knew he had succeeded. ‘You will come to understand that.’ He sensed he had given much to his young friend to think about and moved further, leaving the shaken man standing amidst one of the halls.

Caine came back to his senses pretty quickly and eagerly followed the Dalai Lama. He wanted to know more. How come a teacher? A teacher in what? To whom? Where would he teach? Unaware of the depth of his own wisdom the young man was impatient to learn. He felt far from being ready to teach.

They walked together a bit longer. Though the Dalai Lama never gave a precise answer to Caine’s myriad questions, he sensed he had achieved a significant progress today. The two men entered one of the main halls. Caine’s attention was immediately attracted by the heated cauldron at the end of it.

For a moment he felt trapped again. He nearly panicked when Master Kwan approached.

‘My friends, how was your walk?’

‘Productive, I think. Kwai Chang, what do you think of the temple?’

‘I, uhm… I…’ The man could not move his gaze off the massive black vessel.

‘I did not expect you to attend the branding ceremony, Caine.’ Master Kwan looked at the Dalai Lama inquisitively.

‘You didn’t?’

‘Yes, Kwai Chang, forgive me, I was unaware of the time. Brother Min Su is getting his brands today; it should start in a while. But please, my friend,’ The Dalai Lama held Caine’s arm, ‘you may go, if you wish. Your coming to see me here today was more than I could hope for.’

Caine was confused. He saw the monks gathering, Ping Hai, too. His old friend did not come to greet him, he was concentrated on the ceremony. Young students were gathering, too. For many of them it would be the first branding to attend, Michael included.

‘May I stay, Your Holiness?’

Neither the Dalai Lama, nor Master Kwan were prepared for such turn of events. They expected for Caine to run for the door and never turn back. His wish to stay for the ceremony could only mean that their lost brother is slowly making his way back to the path of his destiny.

‘Kwai Chang, I will be more than happy to have you here with me today.’

The Dalai Lama had Caine close to him during the whole ceremony. He blessed Brother Min Su, now Master Min Su, on his new path. Caine remained concentrated and sombre and kept looking mesmerized at the cauldron. He was completely oblivious to the many eyes fixated on him. Few were those who had witnessed display of Caine’s skill, but they were enough to spread the word. Everybody perceived that there must be something special about a man that the Dalai Lama had met only weeks ago and held in such a high esteem already.

*****

Caine came home as soon as he could. It was past 2 pm and he was hoping to play with Peter a bit but the toddler was already down for his afternoon nap.

‘Everything all right, Caine? You look pale.’ Mrs Jenkins was just taking a chocolate cake out of the oven.

‘Yes… N-no, actually, everything is… OK. ...Is this a chocolate cake?’ Caine frowned. He did not like for Peter to have too much sugar.

‘Don’t worry, my dear, just keep it on the high shelf and don’t let the little man eat from it after 6 pm.’

‘Nah, that’s fine. Thank you again, thank you very much!

‘It’s nothing, my dear. I love being here.’ The woman picked her coat and prepared for leaving. ‘If you need anything at all, if you need to go to the city…’

‘No, not now. I… I still don’t know what I’m going to do.’

She held his hand tight and caressed his cheek. ‘Have faith, my dear! And open your eyes.’

‘To what?’

‘Signs are all around us. We’re asking God what to do, and He sends us signs all the time. Only we’re blind to most of them.’

‘Mrs Jenkins, I’m not Christian.’

‘So…. Isn’t God one for all? Aren’t faith and destiny one? For all?’

‘Of course they are.’ He kissed her hand and sent her to the door. ‘But you better make sure Father Hawkins never hears you speak like that.’

‘Haha, I will. Good bye, Caine!’

‘Good bye, Mrs Jenkins!’

Kwai Chang had not met many Christians with such an open mind and understanding of religion and human soul. He shuddered when he thought how many people have died – and were still dying – because of misinterpreted religious dogmas.

Caine took the satchel off his shoulder and went to check on Peter. His little man was hugging his stuffed animal and sucking the thumb of his free hand. The father took the little blue blanket which was at its usual place on the floor and covered the child, then very gently kissed him. He reminded himself to check in twenty minutes again, as it was almost certain that the obstinate Peter would kick it again.

The man felt tired, exhausted even. So much has happened during the last three hours; he needed some time to realize it. Caine unbuttoned his shirt and headed for the living room. He found some documentary about the Olympic Games on TV and left it there. He was going to meditate but before that all he wanted to do was  _nothing_. Caine stretched on the couch, frowned that it was too short to accommodate his 1, 85 -tall body and pulled a small stool. He was going to use it during the night, anyway.

Kwai Chang watched the black-and-white screen but did not hear a word. Everything that happened today… He, a teacher? The branding… The temple and his son living there…

The branding!

Caine’s relaxed left hand dropped from the edge of the couch. He startled from the brisk movement. Everything around was dark, the room was unfamiliar. His instinct was to jump and look for his son but there was no one there, the house... the room was gone. It looked like a basement, though the ceiling was very high and tall columns were connecting it with the floor. Kwai Chang walked for a while and saw light. A cauldron! He saw a heated cauldron.

‘…my destiny…’

Kwai Chang heard voices and hurried in their direction. Unexpectedly he found himself right before two men, the one young, the other – old, but they did not see him. Was he dreaming? He wanted to wake up but he could not. It was a branding ceremony he was going to observe, and a very strange one.

There were just this old man, and the younger one… No other monks, no students. And both men had hair! So that was not a temple? What kind of a sad ceremony was this? Caine came closer and saw the eyes of the young man who approached the cauldron and pulled the sleeves of his saffron-coloured robe. There was confusion and fear in those eyes, but not the kind of fear one usually feels when standing in front of a giant heated vessel. No, the young man did not seem to care about the pain that awaited him; he was afraid of something else, or for somebody else. Kwai Chang could almost  _feel_  his anguish. He saw acceptance, too.

That was somebody who was definitely not certain in his choice, and man should  _never_  venture to take the brands if he has not taken them in his heart already. A whirlpool towards self-destruction threatens the one who takes the brands for the wrong reason. Why is this young man doing it? Caine shouted, ‘No! Wait!’ but it was too late. The man in the robe pressed his arms on the tiger and dragon reliefs.

Then everything evolved very quickly. Caine wanted to talk to this confused young man and he never knew what hit him. The pain struck him just as he had one hand stretched towards the platform with the cauldron. Electricity ran through his body; he screamed heavily both from shock and pain. His knees succumbed to weakness and he fell holding his forearms in front. Smell of burned flesh spread in the air and Caine looked at his hands. His eyes were telling him everything was as before, yet his brain and every fibre of his body were screaming that his forearms were on fire. Kwai Chang whimpered. His vision blurred, his head was going to burst, and his forearms were throbbing out of the heat and pain.

He lifted head and saw he had remained alone; both men were gone. Shouldn’t the younger one stay and have his wounds mended? What kind of joke was this? Caine tried to get up and hurry after them but all he managed was to crawl by the edge of the platform and lean on it exhausted. He spread his forearms hoping for the cold air to numb the pain a little and shut eyes.

The cold air was spreading up his legs and the arms, shivers ran through his body.

Caine opened eyes.

‘What the…?’

He stood up and realized he was in his living room. The young man had headache, his vision was blurred. He frantically touched his forearms, they were as before. Kwai Chang was still half-asleep but he had to check on Peter. The clock was showing 3 pm though he felt like he had been asleep for hours.

Still confused from his vivid dream Caine opened Peter’s door. That moment his heart stopped at the vision that was revealed in front of him. He had to cup his mouth to prevent himself from shouting.

There, amidst the room of his little son, Kwai Chang saw a tiger! A tiger was walking around the small place, quite nervous, much like the tigers they had in the San Francisco Zoo. The animal was producing threatening sounds. It was looking fiercely at Caine as if trying to tell him not to come any closer.

Kwai Chang stretched trembling hand preparing to defend himself in case the big cat was to attack. He had no heart to look at Peter’s bed. There was no blood, although it was hard to see well in the dimly lit room. Caine slowly moved head towards the little bed by the wall and one even more frightening sight welcomed him – a dragon. Few tears ran the man’s cheeks, he was in a state of shock. The dragon was silver-brown, landed right above Peter’s cot. He was shaking his serpent-like neck and waving his wings. Also the dragon looked at Caine angrily, his eyes like burning fires.

Kwai Chang was suffocating. ‘N-no… God… N-no...’ What do you do in such a moment? He leaned on the door frame and wiped his eyes. ‘Let it be a dream, dear God, please, please, please…’

Caine looked at the room again. The blinds were halfway down, there were toys lying all over the place. Peter was sleeping. There was no sign of tiger or dragon. The scared man wiped his eyes again and immediately ran to the toddler.

‘Peter? My son…’

He took the sleeping child in his arms and started cradling him. Peter woke up, quite confused and annoyed with the disturbance of his nap. Yet he did not cry or complain in any way, as he found himself in his father’s strong grip, and the boy loved that grip. Caine was caressing and kissing vigorously his son like it was the last thing he was going to do in his life. He put Peter lay on his left arm and looked at the big hazel eyes which in turn smiled at him sleepily.

‘Daddy…’

‘Yes, Peaty, Daddy’s here…’ Kwai Chang kissed the little forehead and got up. He took the blanket and headed for the living room. He was overtaken by the urge to leave this place immediately, and he even turned suspiciously before closing the door, to make sure that nothing was hiding in the shadows.

In the living room Caine put Peter on the couch and turned off the TV. The boy was ready to fall asleep again so he covered him and relaxed next to him.

‘God, what was that?’

Caine considered. He was awake, yet what he saw in the room was not a dream… It was not real, either. He massaged his tired eyes and tried to remember the last time he drank. It was Thursday night, and he had only a beer with a couple of colleagues at the bar. So it was not from the alcohol. Was he hallucinating? Could it be something wrong with his head? Perhaps he should go see a doctor; it was not the time to get sick now.

Caine’s palms slid down his face. The man had heard that Shaolin Masters and especially Shambhala Masters often have visions, usually prophetical ones, but he was not a Master. Hell, he was not even a Shaolin. Kwai Chang leaned elbows on his knees and stared at his bare forearms. The empty skin was laughing at him.

He remembered the strangers he had to live with after his father left. He remembered his teachers and then his trip back to China. There he completed his training and hours before his branding ceremony he quit. The abbot had been very disappointed that one of his ‘most gifted students gave up on his destiny’.

Was this his destiny? At the time he could not care less. He was young and he wanted the world. Being stuck in a secluded temple was not what he wanted from life, not at that point at least. So he travelled around China, then back to the States. Kwai Chang had been impatient to try life’s wonders and he certainly got more than he bargained for.

The man shook head and ran fingers through his long hair which was now falling down freely since he lost the hair band while sleeping. Apparently all that life had in store for Kwai Chang Caine was loss. It started with his mother, then his friend and his temple, then his father… And even when he was all grownup and thought he had control over his life, he kept on losing.

Serena! The first big love in his life.

God, Serena, where are you now?

He remembered her voice, her hair, her sense of humour. This New York girl had ended up in San Francisco alone and with a child out of the wedlock. But Kwai Chang was going to fix it all. He was going to marry Serena and adopt Maya, and everything would have been all right. And then… she just left. Gone. Why? With whom? Where?!

But that loss, Caine thought, made him take some odd decisions, which only months later met him with an angel… This angel he came to love like nothing else he had ever loved before... Only to lose  _her_  as well. Kwai Chang looked at the sleeping child by his side, the blessing tha his angel left him. His son he loved more than life itself; he could not imagine the world without Peter.

The thought brought Caine back to reality. The Dalai Lama had suggested that the temple on the plateau was perfect for a child to grow in, and, he was right. It was not the perfect place for Caine, but it would provide everything Peter needed – home, security, education.

Then he looked at his forearms again. The two times he travelled to China he proved himself worthy of the Shaolin mark and both times he gave it up. Did he make the right choice? He was good with his hands. And he considered himself a herbalist,  _that_  he was really good at. Before he was 30 Kwai Chang Caine had already surpassed several of his teachers. In China they would often compare him with his father, the great healer Master Matthew Caine. He sighed.

‘Father, where are you? I need you, father, God, I need you so much!..’

Deep inside Caine had still not forgiven his father for leaving him. He felt pain, grief for the lost father alond with severe anger for the parent that abandoned him.

After the War they lived so well in the city. It had been amazing for Kwai Chang as a boy to train every day with his father, to learn from him about herbs and about the Dao. Then Kwai Chang really wanted to be nothing else but like his father who he almost idolised.

At one point his father started going out often, especially at night, and one day Kwai Chang found him crying. It was the only time Matthew had ever been angry with his son. A week later later he left...to search for some long lost relic. Ha! Kwai Chang was not a boy any more, he knew better now. So, was it a woman then? As a grownup he could easily put himself in his father’s shoes. Find a woman, lose a woman, go destroy yourself. It was so… Caine to do that.

But Caine never made peace with his father leaving; this he would not forgive. If he could find him tomorrow, he would probably shout at him… And then he would hug him fiercely. He badly wanted to find shelter in his father’s strong arms one last time and break down. Only for one moment.

Kwai Chang looked at his son again. It was too late for past regrets. He was on the other side now, he was the father. Peter’s life already began with a loss and he wondered whether his son was not also marked by the Caine curse to lose everyone and everything. No, no, Peter would have a better life. Peter would be luckier, he would be ready, and Kwai Chang was always going to be there for his son. He promised himself.

‘Always, my son, always.’

Caine’s thoughts were pacing. Perhaps he should meditate before Peter woke up. He sat in lotus by the couch and the first thing that came to his mind was about the strange events from few minutes ago. The vision was probably the result of him not being quite awake. Or was it a sign? For a moment Caine thought he would lose his son, just like few weeks ago. It could have been his guilty conscience. But why tiger and dragon? Of all predators… Could it be because of the branding he witnessed earlier?

Ah, the branding… his dream... Now it made sense. He relaxed. At first Caine thought he was dreaming his potential branding but that was not him. He could not see well the face of the man receiving the brands, but he had Caucasian features, and the only thing they had in common was the dark-brown hair. Nah, that was definitely not him. Besides, with a lanky body structure like his, Kwai Chang could never pull that back of a weight lifter.

But if it was not his branding, then whose…

Caine opened eyes and stared intently at his son, his body strained to the max. The toddler was still asleep. The father remained like that for a few seconds then closed his eyes again. Nah, it was just his mind playing tricks on him, that was all.

Right?

 

*******


	6. Crane

_Four days later_

‘Come in, Kwai Chang.’

‘Your Holiness… Master…’

‘I am glad to see you, Kwai Chang Caine,’ smiled Ping Hai.

The old Master and the Dalai Lama were sitting in the temple garden when Caine came to them. They were pleasantly surprised. The Dalai Lama sensed that Ping Hai could barely hold his joy. Had they succeeded at last?

‘I… I came to see you. I… still have many questions.’

‘Kwai Chang, is not life itself one endless question?’

‘I like to call it a  _quest for knowledge_. If life is a question, then… where lays the answer?’

The Dalai Lama was pleased. It was the first time in their short acquaintance that Caine managed to overcome his shyness and his grief, and draw from his wisdom.

‘You see, my friend, I  _do_  have what to learn from you.’

‘Nah…,’ Caine smiled shyly. Sometimes he was surprised by his own insight.

‘So, young Caine, what brings you up here?’

‘Master, I’m confused and…’ He sighed. ‘I have to do something.’ Caine looked to the side.

‘I will do the best I can to help you, young man.’

‘Kwai Chang, you look confused.’

‘Your Holiness, I have to admit you were right… This place is… It really  _is_  perfect for a child to grow in.’

The two men secretly shared a joyful look. They had succeeded.

‘I know.’

‘But you are still uncertain, Kwai Chang Caine.’

‘Yes, Master, because I’m not certain that it’s going to be the best choice. …In fact…’ Caine took a sip from the tea he had been offered. ‘I need to go to the city next week.’

The older men’s faces darkened.

‘You can leave Peter here, if you wish,’ said Ping Hai and turned his saddened expression away from the young man.

‘Master,’ the Dalai Lama had not given up, ‘may I suggest something?’

‘Please.’

‘When is that you must travel to San Francisco, Kwai Chang?’

‘On Tuesday.’

‘I see you hesitate… about the temple. Then, why do you not take your son and spend these few days here, together?’

At that moment Ping Hai thought that his spiritual leader was a genius.

Caine looked puzzled.

‘But I’m not member of the temple…,’ he said and turned towards Ping Hai. The old Master answered immediately.

‘You forget that we are open to anyone, young man. People in trouble can enjoy the hospitality of the Shaolin as long as they need it.’

‘But…’

‘...Especially if they are one of us. You _are_ a Shaolin, Kwai Chang Caine, branded or not. And… you will not be required to shave your head.’ Ping Hai winked. Once on the outside Shaolin trainees tended to be rather sensitive about their hair.

‘What if I don’t come back? What if I find work in San Francisco and move there with my son?’

‘Then that is what you will do. As Master Kwan said, you will not betray or insult us. You need shelter, we are ready to provide it.’

‘I already have a shelter.’

‘But your soul does not,’ said the Dalai Lama and Caine froze. That was true.

The young man smiled and inhaled the fresh air. There was no need to deceive himself, he loved it up here. The last days have been a frustrating sequence of unsuccessful job hunting. He was glad to find some peace up on the plateau.

‘So, even if it’s for five days, it would be all right?’

‘If that is how long you will need to find your answers, of course.’ Ping Hai was praying to every deity he could think of. The next five days were going to be decisive.

‘All right, all right… I’ll do it. Ha…’ Caine chuckled and felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘I will have a room prepared for you at once,’ said Ping Hai and the other men saw him almost running inside.

‘That is great news, Kwai Chang. I will be happy to spend more time with you before I leave.’

‘Yes… You’ll have to leave…’ Caine had forgotten that the Dalai Lama could not stay there forever. He also realized he had no idea why the holy man had come over here in the first place.

‘I have almost two weeks more, do not worry. Now, I believe you have to go and collect some things?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Caine startled and soon he was already hurrying down the road.

*****

By noon everyone in the temple knew that Kwai Chang Caine was going to stay there. The monks were content and the students enthusiastic. Everyone had something to learn from Master Caine. Though not a priest, they all were referring to him as ‘Master’, for in skill and wisdom, he was one.

At about four Kwai Chang Caine was already settling in his room. There was a writing desk in it, a table, and a chest. The bed was single and he was going to share it with Peter, but he was looking forward to it. Since his vision last week he was on the verge of panic every time Peter would be out of sight, so sleeping in the same room would ensure that he could watch over his son’s safety constantly.

*****

The first two days passed unnoticed. Caine was hiding his insecurity behind exhausting training schedule. He resumed proper training the very next morning after his arrival. He got up before dawn, and spent the day training and meditating. The young father had already spotted few secluded corners where he could practice without fearing that Peter would wander somewhere. They were also suitable for him finding privacy, as he tended to gather a small crowd every time he would practice, especially when he was training with the weapons.

But Caine did not need to worry, at least about Peter, for his practice had at least the same effect on the little boy as it did on everyone else. Peter would forget about everything and just sit and watch his father’s swift flawless moves absolutely mesmerized. Kwai Chang never thought that a two-year-old can hold concentration for more than two minutes, but his son could. It almost looked like Peter understood what he was looking at. On the second afternoon he even sneaked and attempted to try the nunchucks, luckily without success as Caine was there on the minute.

‘Those are dangerous!’

Peter pouted and put little hands round his hips. ‘No!’

The sight of the stubborn little man was so amusing that Kwai Chang could not help but laugh. He sat on the ground and held the weapon.

‘Like those?’

‘Yes!’ Peter tried to snatch them from his father’s hand but Caine pulled them slowly and put them behind his back, safe from Peter’s inquisitive eyes.

When he saw he could not have the weapon he chose, Peter turned and clumsily started kicking the air, with frequent ‘hoo’ and ‘ha’ sounds. His father was practically rolling on the ground with laughter. Not because the sight was funny, it was out of pride.

The next moment Caine heard noise from the yard where a group of advanced students was practicing. He lifted Peter in his arms and took few minutes to observe the training. Suddenly he imagined his little boy as a young man, all grown and strong, practicing with the nunchucks, or with the staff, or the swords…

Caines kissed the little head.

‘Do you want to fight?’

‘Fight.’

‘Thought so…,’ he murmured and held his son closer. ‘I’ll teach you. Do you want me to teach you?’

‘Pappy, fight.’ Peter clapped hands and hugged his father.

‘We’ll train together,’ said Caine and stared at the sky dreamily. ‘As I used to train with your grand-dad... We’ll practice together every day.’ Caine caressed his son’s back and walked out of the room. ‘Every day.’

‘Now, it’s time for dinner; we’re having rice. You like rice, don't you?’

*****

The next morning Caine joined the other seniors and led a form class, while Ping Hai self-appointed himself Peter’s baby sitter. Kwai Chang was explaining simply and clearly the applications of every move he taught his students. Those who were progressing faster he reminded that they still had much to learn. Those who were behind he told that everyone progresses with his own pace, and that they were as good as everyone else.

Master Kwan was pleased, as were all of the seniors. Caine was everything they hoped he would be, and all that remained was to convince him to stay with them.

After the class Kwai Chang hurried to the garden. Ping Hai was just telling Peter a Chinese fairy tale and Mike was listening bewildered.

‘Do you like it?’ asked Caine with a sneaky smile.

‘I can’t get a word. But I like the sound of it.’

‘Didn’t you learn any Chinese from your parents?’

‘Only Mandarin, and very little. My father spoke mostly English,’ said Khan and bent head under the sad memory of his lost parent. Caine hugged him; he knew all too well how Michael felt.

‘This is Cantonese, it’s not exactly the same as Mandarin.’

‘How many languages are you teaching Pete?’

Caine chuckled. ‘I’ve learned quite a few dialects, but I’d be happy if he learns any Chinese at all. Mandarin is my preference as everyone speaks it, but some Cantonese would be good, too.’ He smiled and opened arms where his little boy landed few seconds later.

‘How was the class?’

‘I liked it, I really enjoyed it. … Did you have good time, Peter?’

‘Yes, pappy. I won’ play…’ Peter broke the hug and started running around, imitating air plane.

‘Which fairy tale did you tell him, Master?’ enquired Caine while wondering which herbs he needed for the light cold few of the students had.

‘Oh, it was not a fairy tale, I told him of  _The Tiger and the Crane_.’

‘Aha…’

‘W-what is it?’ Michael was interested. It did not sound like something Andersen would write.

‘You do not know the story, young Khan?’ asked Ping Hai.

‘No. Do I have to?’ The boy looked at Caine with guilty eyes.

‘This is the legend of how kung fu started. It is… beautiful, I think.’ He looked at Ping Hai.

‘Do you want to hear the story?’

‘Oh, yes!’

Ping Hai smiled and sat by the pond. He called Peter to join him. The little boy ran towards the old man and stretched little hands expecting to be lifted.

‘Hai Hai!’

Everybody laughed at the cute way Peter called the Old Master. The man lovingly put the boy on his knees, and began his story.

‘The story, young Khan, starts thousands of years ago, back when the Shaolin was a mere group of Buddhist monks. …Young Caine, will you join us for a while?’

‘Of course, it’s a nice story; I loved it as a child.’

Ping Hai grinned and continued. ‘It is much more than a story, young man.’

‘Of course it is,’ answered Caine with a hint of irony and settled not far from Khan, meaning to mix some herbs.

‘There was a young Shaolin monk, Lee Chung,’ began Ping Hai. ‘He was very ambitious and could not stand injustice. He would often walk around the grounds of his temple, contemplate, help. One day Lee Chung walked by the lake and witnessed something extraordinary. He saw how a big and apparently very hungry tiger was trying to steal the eggs from a crane’s nest.’

‘Why would a tiger steal eggs?’

‘Eggs contain all the nutrition an animal needs to survive,’ said Caine. ‘And a Master’s words contain enough wisdom for him not to be interrupted.’

‘Sorry…’ Khan blushed and concentrated on the story.

Ping Hai settled Peter a little bit better on his lap and continued. ‘The crane, however, did not give up. The bird fought the tiger to protect its eggs, and fought him successfully.’

The Master paused and looked at his young student, expecting the usual question.

‘But how is that possible?’ asked Michael. Both seniors smiled.

‘It’s not,’ said Caine and was immediately pierced by Ping Hai’s severe gaze.

‘Sorry.’

‘Lee Chung realised that the crane was not all that weak after all. The tiger counted on its claws, which are lethal. But he seemed to have found his match in the crane’s elegant, swift moves. In that moment the young monk wondered if it was possible to be like the crane.’

‘But why?’

‘Because, the power of the tiger is obvious. While the elegant bird looked weak and fragile, but in fact it was strong and quick.’

Khan smiled. ‘Just like us! I m-mean.. like you, like the Shaolin! They always appear weaker than they actually are.’

Caine looked proudly at his protégée. ‘Mike, I believe you have all the credentials to be a Master one day.’

The teenager flushed again. ‘M-me? You think so?’

‘I think,’ nodded Caine and looked at Ping Hai. The old man grinned.

‘Master Khan… I like the sound of it.’

Michael giggled quietly and bent head. He was a shy, modest boy, and that his teachers believed he was capable of becoming a master was the greatest compliment he had ever received. He did not need to be a tiger... He could be like the crane!

‘But… I don’t understand… Kung fu uses the tiger form…’

‘Of course, we have taken the best of it. But remember, young Khan, kung fu protects, the tiger attacks.’

‘Yes…’ The boy was quite pleased with the story. Actually the tale usually had the same effect with all children who heard it. Only the adults were more sceptical.

Ping Hai explored Kwai Chang. ‘You don’t agree, Caine?’

‘I… Sure… It’s a nice story, Master, but in reality... In nature the crane can never win.’

‘If the crane makes the tiger go, he  _has_  won.’

‘You mean he has won by surviving?’

‘Yes.’

Caine shrugged. ‘Yeah... Well, I guess. I still can’t imagine the crane overcoming the giant cat.’

Despite his deep understanding of life, Caine did not believe in fairy tales. He stopped after his father left him in search of one, and the fourteen-year-old son of Matthew Caine had been forced into the real world, where tigers usually kill cranes.

Ping Hai gave his young friend a playful look. ‘One day, Kwai Chang Caine, you will be  _shocked_  at just how much stronger and quicker the crane can actually be…’

He turned to Peter on his lap. ‘Is he not, Peter?’

‘Yes, he is! … Yes he is!’ He kissed the little boy with unconcealed pride and looked at his father mischievously.

Kwai Chang loved seeing the older man playing with his son, yet he was completely bewildered at how it was possible that someone as wise and powerful as a Shambhala Master can turn to complete silliness in just about three seconds.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ grinned Caine ironically and got up.

Ping Hai observed Caine order the herbs and then turned to Peter. ‘You’re my little crane, aren’t you?’

‘Cwane,’ agreed Peter and energetically hugged the old monk. Ping Hai responded and held the child for a while.

Caine and Michael laughed again at Peter’s funny talk and the proud father took a second to enjoy the connection his son had with the Old Master. Smiling he joined them and stretched expecting hands towards his son.

‘Now, if you don’t mind, the crane needs to have his lunch. ….Come on, crane,’ commanded Kwai Chang.

Peter, however, not willing to obey anyone’s orders, decided to have some fun, and jumped off Ping Hai’s lap. Only his father's quick reactions and firm grasp saved his stubborn son from injuring himself.

Caine held Peter tight. ‘I wish you’d stop doing that!’

*****

After they had lunch Caine settled for meditation. Peter never slept immediately after meals so he was playing around while his father was trying to empty his mind, rather unsuccessfully. He was annoyed with himself for making the silly mistake to order his son to be still. Caine just forgot that in the mind of little Peter Caine all ‘do-s’ were interpreted as ‘don’t-s’ and vice versa. So now the young man had to bear his mischievous son’s revenge.

Peter did not like being ignored, especially when he was in a mood for games. Nor did he like being given orders. He quickly found what to occupy himself with. There were many stands with candles around, so Peter started collecting the molten wax. He made little balls of it and mercilessly started throwing them towards his father. At least he was not eating the wax, thought Caine. After the ground around Caine was all covered with little wax balls, he realised that if his patience passed the test called  _Peter_ , he could probably achieve anything.

Kwai Chang’s meditation was not to be after all. A loud sound from a fallen heavy object drew him from his concentration. The blood drained from his face. A second later he was on his feet and saw his son looking with interest the massive candle holder that had fallen, only an arm distance from him. The horrified father ran towards Peter. He kneeled and frantically started checking the child for injuries. Convinced his son was unharmed, Caine took him firmly in his arms.

‘Why did you do that?’

Peter was stunned. His father had never raised his voice at him.

‘Do you know how dangerous this is? You could have been killed!’

Caine was shouting and was not at all touched by Peter’s tears. He was distracted, however, by the monks who rushed in the room, following the loud noise.

‘Is everything all right,’ asked Master Min.

‘Yes, we’re fine,’ answered Caine gravely and got up with Peter in his arms. The boy was still sobbing.

Kwai Chang hurried towards his room. With the corner of his eye he noticed the concerned expression of Ping Hai but cared little about him at the moment.

Inside the room he put Peter on the bed and started preparing him for nap. The toddler was too scared to object his father undressing him. Caine was angry. He did not look at Peter’s face, partly because he knew it was he who made his son cry. When Peter had his pyjamas on, his father finally faced him.

‘Time for bed.’

‘No,’ answered Peter stubbornly and bent his head.

‘Come on now...’

‘No!’ Peter pulled from his father and tried to get off the bed.

‘Peter! You’ll do as I say, understood? In bed, now!’

The boy shuddered. He appeared however more sad than afraid. In his short live Peter had never heard his father speak in such a loud and aggressive manner. One did not need to know their story to see how attached to his father the child was. Now he looked confused, incapable of understanding why the man he loved so dearly was this angry with him.

Quietly Peter snugged under the cover and laid head on the soft pillow. He looked at his father without uttering a sound. His big hazel eyes were staring at the grown man before him, asking only one thing, why.

Kwai Chang covered his son and bit lips. Everything was going so well… How could he react like this? Peter could have hurt himself, yes, but little children have no understanding of what danger is. It is  _his_ duty to protect Peter, and he failed at it. Caine felt so ashamed that he did not dare even touch his son. He swallowed through the ball stuck in his throat and left the room.

Outside Ping Hai was waiting for him.

‘Master…’

‘Kwai Chang Caine…’

‘I… must apologise for the candle holder.’

‘What do you apologise for?’

‘For the noise, for the disturbance.’

‘We accepted a father and his young son here, Caine, these things were… expected?’

Caine smiled faintly. They had few iron candleholders, and it took two strong men to move just one of them. It was beyond him how his two-year-old managed to topple down the massive stand.

‘I hope we did not interrupt anything important…’

‘My young friend, again, it is not me you should be apologising to.’

A very quiet ‘I know’ came from Kwai Chang’s lips.

‘Why did you get so angry?’

‘I was scared…. God, I was horrified!’ He smiled. ‘He’s so active, so energetic and stubborn…’

‘Like his mother...'

‘Yes,’ said Caine lovingly, and the image of his beautiful Laura appeared in front him. ‘Just like his mother.'

‘And not unlike his father, either,' smiled the old man. 'You cannot be always there to protect your son.’

‘But I was there now, and I almost lost him.’ He shook head. ‘I was angry at myself, it was my fault, and I took it out on him. Not very Shaolin, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You think I’m a Shaolin? I can barely control my emotions… I act first and then think.’

‘This is normal.’

‘It is  _not_  normal,’ Caine raised his voice again.

‘Control is something you learn with a lot of practice, Kwai Chang Caine. You may have completed the basic Shaolin training, but the studying has not finished yet. It has not even started.’

‘I understand.’

‘Now, go to have some sleep, or meditate, whatever you prefer.’

The concerned father looked anxiously back at his room but obeyed.

‘You need to calm your spirit before you can face your son again. He is very hurt, and only you can fix that.’

‘Yes.’

Caine walked a little. He sat on the stairs leading towards one balcony and leaned on a column. He did not feel like meditating. He just felt… empty. The young man was not angry any more, just frightened. For someone who was not even three yet, Peter was showing a disturbing talent for getting himself into all sorts of trouble. The last time he scared his poor father out of his wits was when he tried to eat from the aloe in the garden as a replacement for the cucumber in his salad. Raw the plant, usually an important medicine, was a deadly poison.

Kwai Chang smiled. Despite the strong resemblance to Laura, Peter was behaving like a proper Caine. He was eager to learn and to know, and cared little about danger. He was so very brave and his father wondered who he had inherited that last one from; it was not from him for sure. Caine thought what a loving, caring child Peter was.

The young man’s mind drifted away; he remembered Laura’s last days in this world. It was the last afternoon the two of them had together. They were in the bedroom, talking, while Peter was taking his nap.

‘I’m scared,’ she had told her husband with dry throat and weak voice. ‘I don’t want to go.’

Laura was practically devouring Kwai Chang with her deep gaze. Her eyes looked even bigger on the milk-white face, framed by dark-blue circles. They were begging him, ‘Save me’ but he could not. He took her hand and kissed the cold, dry skin. It was almost impossible to hold his tears but for her sake and with the help of some super-human effort he did it; he had to be strong.

He told her, ‘Think that one day we’ll be together again.’

Laura sighed; it was evident that she was very much in pain. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘That’s… my pier…, m.. love, the thought… that one day… we’ll b-be a family… again.’

Until this day Caine could not comprehend his wife’s words. Did she mean that they would be a family in another life? He pushed the thought away. What had remained as the most vivid memory from that afternoon was Peter. The boy interrupted his parents’ conversation and came in the room running.

‘Mamma!’

‘My baby…’

Energetically Peter climbed on the bed and at the look of her son for a moment Laura brightened so much, like she was not sick at all. Their little boy had stood on the bed, supported by his father’s strong hands, and looked puzzled at Laura.

‘Mamma… Sad?’

‘Oh, my love… A little bit, yes, sweetie, I’m… a little bit sad.’

She had stretched her hands expecting from Peter to nest in her arms but what he did was completely unexpected. The toddler approached his mother clumsily and stood right next to her head. Then he wrapped his tiny hands around Laura so that she could press head towards Peter’s little body.

‘No sad, mamma, will ‘K.’ Then Peter had caressed his mother’s shiny red hair and kissed her on the cheek.

Kwai Chang had covered his mouth with one hand in disbelief; it was not possible to hold his tears any longer either. And Laura was staring at Peter amazed. She was holding a two-year-old boy in her arms, one that was still barely speaking, but behind those expressive beautiful eyes there was a man who understood everything that was happening and had come to comfort her when she needed him the most.

Caine startled with a deep sigh. His eyes were swelled again. He realised how blessed he had been with this absolutely amazing child and today the way he expressed his love was by punishing Peter for a mistake that was not even his own. The overwhelming need to be with his son him hit Caine like a tidal wave.

With sight still dimmed from the short doze and the tears, Kwai Chang got up and hurried to his room. He opened the door and looked for Peter but the boy was not there. Still too dizzy to panic, Caine listened. Almost immediately he heard his son’s sweet laughter and followed it. He walked down the long corridor which ended in a small library that overlooked west. The room was nicely furnished, and the Abbot had even provided few toys for Peter, as the place represented a perfect and safe playground for Caine’s mischievous son.

Kwai Chang looked forward to some time of games and laughter with his son; he hurried down the hall. Behind he heard voices; it was probably Ping Hai and the Dalai Lama who must have been back from a trip to San Diego. But right now neither of them mattered. Caine was going to enter the room and he would just stand and watch Peter playing for a while before joining him. He would not be angry, he would not shout. Kwai Chang was never going to shout to his son again.

The room was basking in the light of the afternoon sun. One window was open and the light wind was making the silk curtains dance in an almost dream-like manner. Peter’s giggle echoed in the silence.

Caine stepped into the room and the picture he saw made him cry out in horror.

‘No!’

The young father was holding the door frame with both hands and did not dare move or breathe. He wanted to rub his eyes in disbelief but a distant voice deep down his heart made him stop. This time he did not panic. He only watched and listened.

‘What is it, Kwai Chang Caine,’ asked Ping Hai who had ran over as soon as he heard Caine’s cry.

His young friend only made a brisk move with one hand demanding silence and stared ahead.

There, inside the room where Peter was playing, he saw the tiger. The giant cat was walking around the place. The little boy giggled again and the tiger approached. Caine had no power to move or shout, and yet, he was feeling that the scene was not to be disturbed.

The tiger came closer to Peter… and obediently sat next to him. The boy touched the shining fur and the cat simply lied down in Peter’s feet. The child crouched and caressed the animal which in turn started purring loudly. It put head on its giant paws and prepared to sleep. The boy stood proud and looked in direction of his father. The young man was smiling in amazement. His eyes moved to a shadow that was falling over Peter. There was the dragon.

The giant reptile was standing imposingly behind the boy. As Peter moved, the dragon followed. But he was not aggressive as before. Peter stood in the sun for a moment and the dragon simply came behind and opened his black wing so that it keeps shadow for Peter. The boy moved a little further and clumsily fell on the ground and stayed there. He was not upset, he only looked around playfully. The huge reptile approached and leaned over forming something like dome over him using his wings and body. The dragon was shielding Peter.

Caine was still staring. He was completely hypnotised. Ping Hai was getting visibly worried.

‘What is it, my friend? Kwai Chang, please, speak. Speak to me!’

The old monk held Caine for the arm and looked at him. The taller man was smiling in an almost adoring manner. A tear ran down his right eye. His tension disappeared, his shoulders relaxed.

At last Caine moved and wiped his eyes. He chuckled and looked at Ping Hai. The expression in Kwai Chang was different, brightened.

‘What is it?’

‘I…’ He looked in the room. ‘My son…’

‘Yes. He is there, Peter is there. He is playing with the cat.’

‘What?’ Caine looked again. A long-furred white-yellow cat that was living in the temple was playing with a small ball, much to Peter’s satisfaction. The child was entirely devoured by the view and would giggle every time the animal would do something funny.

Caine nodded. He was still smiling.

‘I see. Now… I see.’

‘What do you see, Kwai Chang Caine,’ asked Ping Hai, sounding considerably more serious.

‘My son has tamed the tiger.’

Ping Hai looked at Peter and the cat. Caine was looking at them, too, or rather  _through_  them.

‘The tiger is at his feet.’ An even broader smile appeared on Caine’s face. ‘And the dragon is by his side; he’s protecting him.’

Caine kept staring.

‘Did you see that, Caine?’

‘Yes,’ answered the young man and entered the room.

*****

‘Peter?’

Kwai Chang approached the boy carefully. The smile on the little one’s face disappeared.

‘My son!’

Caine fell to his knees in front of Peter. He put right hand on his heart and started laughing loud. The boy felt he had no reason to be afraid; he got up and ran to his father. Little children are incapable of holding resentment against anybody. The loneliness Peter had felt after his father got angry at him made the boy forgive his parent almost immediately. Now all he needed was to be in his father’s arms again.

Caine did not hesitate. He hugged his son tightly and started cradling him while laughing and crying at the same time. Ping Hai and the Dalai Lama looked at each other slightly concerned but also pleased.

‘Pappy…’ Peter kissed Caine and the father responded with a shower of hugs and kisses on Peter’s face and neck. The boy laughed from the tickly feeling and he left himself completely at this unexpected display of affection.

Caine was laughing frantically. Every now and then he would wipe his tears and then he would keep laughing.

‘I know. Now I know, Peter, I  _know_ …’ He sobbed and kissed Peter again.

‘Thank you for showing me… God, thank you!’ Caine laid on the ground and gently lifted Peter in the air. ‘Thank you, my son!’ He hugged the boy again and stayed like that for a minute or two.

Finally father and son realised the presence of the two elders and Caine thought he would better explain before the two men thought he had lost his mind completely.

‘Your Holiness, Master…’ He sniffed and looked at Peter.

‘I saw.’

Then he kissed the boy and held him in front of his face.

‘He’s a Shaolin!’

Caine looked at his teachers. ‘My son is a Shaolin.’

He held Peter close to his chest and repeated quietly. ‘Peter is a Shaolin, a Shaolin…’

Caine closed eyes and kept cradling Peter tenderly, the broad smile was still shining on his face; his whole being was emanating light.

The two elder monks only bowed and left. This was a moment father and son had to share in piece. Moreover, the discovery that Kwai Chang Caine had just made called for some contemplation which he had to do alone, undisturbed.

‘You are silent, my friend,’ started the Dalai Lama as they were heading for the Main Hall.

Ping Hai’s gaze was fixated on the ground.

‘What troubles you?’

‘He had a vision…’ Then Ping Hai repeated it slowly. ‘Kwai… Chang… Caine… had… a vision.’

‘That surprises you?’

What surprised Ping Hai was his leader’s question.

‘I thought… Was it not you who did that?’

‘I told you, Your Holiness, I do not have the right to interfere. Of course, I  _could_  have evoked visions with Caine but the path of his life he is supposed to find on his own, alone.’

‘Your task is only to protect…’

‘Yes!’

The Dalai Lama stopped.

‘Then how…’

‘I do not know, my old friend. This… He is not even branded yet…’ The Old Master was confused. ‘I do not understand, I really don’t…’

They kept walking and before going down the stairs the Dalai Lama smiled.

‘Then, perhaps, Kwai Chang Caine is more powerful than you think he is.’

‘He is, I know that. Great things are aligned for this young man, but…’

The Dalai Lama only looked at him playfully.

‘Perhaps he is…’ Ping Hai grinned. ‘Perhaps he really  _has_  progressed more than any of us realises.’

They smiled at each other and parted. The Dalai Lama needed some time for private moment of worship, and Ping Hai had to meditate. What they just observed had been so beautiful and pure… But neither of the two elders dared express their hopes out loud yet.

 

 

*******


	7. Vow

* **Bold** – indicates speech in Chinese  
* _Italics_ – indicate thoughts

 

_Tuesday_

‘Do you understand, my son?’

Peter nodded.

‘I won’t be long, I promise. Peter… I’ll be back very soon.'

Peter nodded again and hid head in his father’s arms.

‘ ‘Wove you, pappy!’

‘I love you too, Peaty!’

The little boy was put back on the ground and saw his father heading down the plateau. Peter sought shelter with Ping Hai and remained there for a while. Then he ran inside and it took Ping Hai, young Khan and three other monks an hour to discover the boy who had hid behind the koi pond in the yard.

Caine  _had_  to leave. He missed the morning bus to San Francisco so slightly annoyed he had to settle for the afternoon one. He knew he would arrive late, he would have to find a place to stay, and generally no work would be done before Wednesday. At least the day was nice, sunny and warm. Kwai Chang only hoped he would manage to complete his business before the Dalai Lama left.

Another thing which added to the young man’s relaxed state was that he  _knew_. God, for the first time in his miserable, lonely life he knew what he had to do. He was at peace.

*****

Thursday came quickly, yet to Ping Hai it felt like every hour was dragging itself. It was not just the awful waiting for a decision by one man that would have eventually impact on thousands, if not more. His completely uncontrollable two-and-a-half-year old son added a very serious sense of… panic to the picture.

The old monk was at his wits’ end with the little Caine. That he, a man almost ancient, a scholar and a healer, a Shambhala Master for Heaven’s sake, had to call upon all of his skill and knowledge to deal with a toddler, was a mystery to behold. The peak was when yesterday Peter had sneaked in the room with antiquities and tried to decorate himself with a thousand-year old armour, nearly setting free an ancient and particularly evil spirit in the process. Nobody even knew about it until Ping Hai sensed the lurking danger.

And Peter, the kid did not realise anything. He simply ran out of the room and Ping Hai had to create a force field around him just to subdue him for a while. Was it because the Old Master lost concentration, or because Peter did God-knows-what, but the boy somehow slipped out of there, too, and eventually invited himself to the private dinner of the Dala Lama and Master Kwan. Luckily the two monks had been more than understanding and the younger Caine not only stayed with them, he was also given treats and special tea of berries and chamomile. Peter stayed with the Masters past his bed time, and then he had to go to sleep… which was a whole other adventure altogether.

It was 1 am on Thursday morning and everything was quiet. Ping Hai was alone in the company of a candle and a few crickets. He enjoyed this blessed time while slowly sipping of the tea he had made to alleviate his headache. The first headache he had in 50 years… Today he was seriously considering to drop by at Shambhala and leave the little monster to the elders there; let them figure how to handle him. The monk sipped again. He was actually wondering just how many Shambhala Masters are needed to put Peter Caine on a leash; one was definitely highly insufficient.

Friday was better. In a way… Even Peter’s inexhaustible source of energy had started to see the bottom, undoubtedly affected by the prolonged absence of his father. For the time being the boy was subdued. He was in the small library, with his colouring books and construction blocks, along with Ping Hai who was watching over him like a hawk.

The old Shambhala Master was concerned. Not with Kwai Chang’s delay, but with the effect it had on Peter. This morning the boy tried to walk on the edge of the balcony, ten metres off the ground, attempting to rescue the temple cat that had been stranded there. It happened after Peter woke up to discover his father still missing. As soon as they took him down from the edge the old Master had to press Peter’s side and made him sleep only to appease the outburst of panic and aggression that followed.

Ping Hai smiled at his young custodian, for to him Peter was very much this.

‘You thought you’d lose your father, too, did you not, Peter?’

The boy hummed something. He was way too concentrated on his masterpiece to bother with the old man.

‘You’ll never lose your father!’ The boy reacted at hearing the word  _father_. ‘I promise you, Peter, your father you will  _not_  lose!’ He stroked the dark-blond head and then quickly wiped a tear that ran down his wrinkled skin.

The old monk sulked into contemplation over his own sad faith. Though honourable, what was demanded from him was monstrous. His own life was a disaster.

‘To leave a child… To have your child taken away from you…’ He kept caressing Peter’s head.

Destiny! That ominous being had taken his own child away from him and by some pervert celestial joke had given him Peter. That lovely, bright, little boy he was going to see grow and turn into an honourable, fine young man. He would be there the whole time… And yet, he would not.

 **‘God took my child and put other man’s child in my care,’**  he whispered, in a Chinese dialect that linguists officially deemed as extinct.  **‘ _This_  is my destiny.’**

He leaned on the sofa exhausted. It already felt so heavy, the first step, the worst thing a human could possibly do, and it had not even started yet. But that was what happened to families like the Caine line, families that were meant to fight evil until last drop of blood. Such families existed to help and protect others, but they needed their protectors, too. Ping Hai’s line was just that, the protectors of the Caine line. It had been so since the beginning of kung-fu. It scared him that he was to be the last of his line as a defender of the Caines, which was was also a relief. He would have to find a new Protector, but this would not happen until many years from now.

‘All in a good time…’ He sighed and looked at Peter. The boy had started a new work, though now much of his attention was dedicated to how traces of blue marker stood on his skin. He seemed to like it.

Ping Hai did not even bother. He only smiled and love filled his being even more.

**‘Peter, do you know how much I love you?’**

Peter was trying the red paint now.

 **‘No, you don’t, and you’ll never know, you’ll never notice.’**  He shook head and in a very un-Shambhala manner allowed quite a few more tears stream down his face.

 **‘Biology means nothing, my little one, because to me you’ll always be the son I never had.’**  He caressed the boy again.  **‘But you’ll never know. For I’ll be the father you’ll never see.’**  He sobbed.  **‘You’ll be looking at me, but you’ll never see _me_.’**

Ping Hai sat on the floor by Peter and for a moment observed the child’s drawing. He leaned and kissed the little head. In return Peter smiled and pressed his tiny hand onto his lips sending the old Master a kiss by the air.

‘What do you have there, a tree?’

‘A t’ee,’ confirmed Peter and kept drawing.

**‘I’ll be the father you’ll never see… Your third father!’**

He closed eyes.  _No, little one, I don’t know who the second will be; he should not be there and yet I see him._

The Master sobbed a bit louder and Peter stared for a moment. Then he got up and brought his tiny tea cup to him.

‘ ‘Mile?’

The elder laughed from the bottom of his heart.

‘There, I’ll smile for you.’ He took a sip and put Peter on his knee. The boy readily welcomed the affection.

‘I’m never going to leave you, Peter.’ The boy only directed his innocent eyes to Ping Hai and listened. ‘I’ll always be there, one way or another, my little one, I will always be watching over you. I swear to you, Peter.  _I_  will never leave you!’

He stroked the little cheek.  _Of all your fathers, I’ll be the one who’ll never leave… and the one you’ll never acknowledge._

He could not hold his emotion any longer. He only hoped the boy would not understand, since for a toddler Peter had already demonstrated perception of human emotion many Shaolin would envy.

Peter kissed the hand that was stroking his cheek. ‘ Tank ‘u, Hai Hai,’ he said smiling and then cuddled in his guardian’s arms.

For a moment completely stunned the old Master stood like frozen and only a minute later he dared wrap his arms around the little boy in his lap.

He did understand!

Ping Hai moved head to the side and had to use few ancient techniques to prevent himself from breaking down.

Finally he could breathe in and turn back to Peter, who in the meantime had fallen asleep. He kissed the little head resting on his chest.

‘Only God knows how much I’m sorry for what I’m doing to you, little Caine. And only God knows how much I love you. You’ll never know, you can never know...’

The monk closed eyes.

**‘Because one day you’ll hate me. Oh, how much you’ll hate me… almost as much as I love you…’**

**‘But I will do what I must to protect your family, my little crane, and all I can do is promise you that one day, one day, Peter, you will be _all_  together again.’**

‘I promise!’

*****

Caine’s steps echoed as he climbed the stairs. This Friday afternoon proved to be the first really warm day of the spring and the temple yard was empty. It was past two o’clock so the monks and the students must have been busy with mediation or studies, he assumed.

Kwai Chang had just returned from San Francisco and came straight to the temple. He hurried inside and found Master Kwan in the company of the Dalai Lama and Ping Hai.

The old Master smiled.

‘Now, Kwai Chang Caine, your chi  _does_  feel different… I can sense the change.’

Caine moved head. ‘There is a change.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I can see clearly now, I know what to do. I have come home.’

Master Kwan wanted to make sure. He frowned.

‘So, you have come to collect your son and leave?’

Caine smiled. ‘I have come to stay.’

The three men were silent. Especially the elders, neither of them believed that they had succeeded. The Dalia Lama was the first to break the stillness. He got up and approached his young friend.

‘Kwai Chang, I cannot express how happy I am!’ He took Caine’s hand. ‘You have made the right decision, my young friend, and I am very proud of you.’

‘Thank you, Your Holiness!’

‘No, Kwai Chang,  _I_  thank you,’ said the Holy Man and gave Caine a mysterious look.

‘Welcome to our temple, Kwai Chang,’ said Master Kwan. ‘I am honoured to be able to welcome the son of Matthew Caine amongst us.’

‘The honour is mine, Master Kwan,’ returned the compliment Caine and bowed to the temple Abbot.

‘What about your house in town, Kwai Chang?’

‘I sold it.’ He looked at Ping Hai. ‘And I paid my debts. I can… make a fresh start now.’

At last also Ping Hai joined the group. He took his time just to observe and enjoy the sight; he wanted to revel in his own joy that one lost man, a very special man, had finally come back to his true path.

‘Welcome to the Shaolin, Kwai Chang Caine! Are you ready?’

Caine bowed.

‘I am.’

*****

It was late in the afternoon. By some fortunate sequence of events the Ritual Hall was empty, for the first time today. Kwai Chang used the moment and sneaked to take a peak. He was holding Peter tightly as the two came closer to the giant black vessel.

The room was long and spacious, perfectly fit for the purposes it was supposed to serve. The matted windows, the multitude of candles and the position of the sun added a certain haunting air to the place. The soft yellow light was soothing and Caine was pleased to notice that it had effect on him. Still, when he approached the cauldron he immediately sensed a subtle rush of panic that he had not felt in weeks.

‘What do you think?’

Peter smiled and kept staring at the vessel with an apparent interest.

Caine took a deep breath. ‘I know it looks scary…’

‘No,’ laughed Peter and pressed tiny hands on his father’s chest.

Caine was speechless for a moment and then he continued. ‘It may be scary, but I… we… we can do it… right?’

‘Yes!’ Peter smiled enthusiastically and clapped his hands.

Then the toddler stretched them in direction of the black vessel and tried to reach it. Only his father’s firm grip prevented him from injuring himself… yet again.

‘Hey, hey, hold on…’ Caine stepped back. ‘You have to wait few years for that…’

If it depended on the impish Peter he would go brand himself on the spot. Kwai Chang looked at his son. Big hazel eyes were staring at him and for a moment the young father felt embarrassed.

‘You’re not afraid of anything, are you, little tiger?’

‘No,’ was the quick reply and Peter’s look immediately filled with mischief. That look usually scared his father to the debts of his soul but now he just pressed lips on the wavy hair and smiled.

‘Ha…’ Caine stared at the little head. ‘So, you’re taken another thing from your old man, after all,’ hummed Kwai Chang and ruffled the silky hair. The roots of the already dark-blond hair were dark, a sign that Peter’s hair would probably have the same dark hue as Kwai Chang’s.

The proud parent kissed the head again. ‘Ah, how I’ll hate to shave that pretty hair of yours.’ Peter frowned. ‘But don’t worry, there’s plenty of time ‘til then…’

Caine’s attention returned to the cauldron.

‘You’re so brave, my son.’

‘B’ave,’ confirmed Peter.

‘So much braver than I am… So much stronger, energetic.’

Slowly he closed eyes and put hand on the back of Peter’s head. The little boy cuddled in Caine’s arms. He had missed his father so bad that he neither slept, nor ate the whole day, so happy he was.

The feel of the little head against his shoulder sent shivers down Caine’s spine.

‘Someday, my son… someday you’ll stand there, too, and the tiger and the dragon will become part of you. They’ll guide and protect you… as will I…’

Kwai Chang caressed Peter’s soft hair and his broad hand remained there.

‘Your path will take you there, Peter, and I’ll be your guide. I’ll do everything to help and protect you…’

A soft smile lit the father’s face. Caine knelt and put Peter on the ground. The boy stood, slightly bewildered, as Kwai Chang took his hands in his and spoke.

‘I swear to you, son, I’ll do everything for you.’

‘I’ll learn, my son, I’ll learn so  _you_  may know.’

‘…I’ll train, so you may fight.’

‘…I’ll search my path, Peter, so you may find yours…’

‘And I’ll protect you, my son, so you may protect others.’

Then the man leaned and kissed the little fingers.

There, in front of a branding cauldron, a father gave his son a sacred vow. This vow he never broke.

 

*******


	8. EPILOGUE

The last box filled up quickly. It was the small things that had left and oddly it took very little time for them to be gathered and neatly ordered.

Moving out turned more challenging than Caine hoped. Not the physical load stood in his way, but the emotional. Opening the bedroom, collecting Laura’s possessions… He did not know how he made it. Amongst other things Kwai Chang collected his late wife’s jewellery box. It had all valuable and tasteful objects, the most precious being her engagement ring. She had asked to keep her wedding ring but the engagement was to be left for Peter.

Caine took the ring. He could swear that there was still a certain cloud of jasmine aroma around it. It was a platinum ring with ruby. The stone had leaves around it, forming a flower. It had been designed by Kwai Chang himself, and that made him somehow less ashamed by the fact that Laura’s father had paid for the ring.

Now he was to keep it and give it to their son when the time was right. Caine smiled and sank into dreams. Someday, he thought, someday he would give it to Peter hoping that the ring will find a lovey new owner, one that would make his son happy and start a family with him. Then Caine would gladly retire and dedicate all of his time and attention to the bunch of grand-children he hoped to be surrounded with.

Kwai Chang chuckled and kissed the ring. There was a lot of time until then. Besides, since it seemed that Peter had taken after his mother both temper and looks, odds were good that there would be a bounty of candidates for that ring…

Caine put the ring in a small mahogany box which in turn found place in his pouch. He looked around. Right now he was really grateful that his father had taken care of their family relics years ago, so now his son did not need to worry about the sword and few other artefacts.

Kwai Chang collected the last books and looked around. All he needed was either in this last box, or on its way to the temple. By some fluke the house’s new owner accepted all of the furniture and even paid extra for it. Now Caine took the last box and prepared to leave but then something caught his attention. A small piece of paper was lying on the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he bent to collect it. It had fallen from one of the books; why did he even keep it?

_‘My love,_

_We must leave you now. Forgive me, but I can’t tell you why, you will follow.’_

My dear Serena…

A part of him was still angry, but another was grateful that he could not follow. For, after all, had it not been for Serena’s leave, Caine would have never met Laura.

He re-read the letter.  _‘There’s greatness in you, my love’_  was the phrase that still puzzled and abashed him, but the letter’s end… that is why he had kept it.

_‘Don’t give up!’_

The loss of Laura had nearly made him give up but he held on, for Peter’s sake he held on.  
Caine folded the letter and put it back inside the book. He was going to keep it, just in case. He needed for Serena to remind him not to give up.

One last glance at the empty house, and he left. The key was to remain with Mrs Jenkins until the new owner arrived. As for the money, it was safe in a bank, and it was going to stay there… until Peter turned 21, or simply until it was needed.

Kwai Chang took one last look at the yard, brushed away few stubborn flashbacks that threatened to send him back down to the path of darkness, and finally he left.

*****

‘Thank you for letting my son watch.’

Ping Hai chuckled. ‘He has to, or he may not recognise you.’

Michael Khan was sitting on a chair to the side and Peter was nested in his lap.

‘Pappy?’

‘It’s OK, Peter, it’s still me, daddy.’

Master Kwan addressed Mike. ‘You have never seen this, have you, young Khan?’

‘No, Master.’

‘Then watch. When someday you become a master, you will be doing that, too.’

Mike blushed and bent head. It became a tendency for him to receive compliments about his skill by other monks. He was really advancing fast and if it went on like that, he might eventually believe that he _did_  have what it takes to be a Master.

Caine was sitting on a chair with Masters Kwan and Ping Hai around him. Flocks of dark-brown hair covered the floor, then a razor carefully brushed the head, leaving nothing but bear skin.

Peter was puzzled. Kwai Chang had to call several times to convince him that it was still he, his father. Though the ritual did not take long, in the end the boy was a bit cautious before he dared approach his father.

Caine got up and heard Ping Hai’s voice behind him.

‘Now, Kwai Chang Caine, that you know your son’s destiny, you must have realised that yours is like his…’

‘No!’ Caine turned his newly shaved head and stared at the Master with a serious look. ‘My destiny is not like my son’s… My  _son_  is my destiny.’

Certain that this time he had given the correct answer, a smiled Caine took Peter and left the room. Proud and satisfied, Ping Hai followed him with his eyes and grinned.

*****

Solemn silence was reigning in the Ritual Hall. It was not just the Dalai Lama’s last day with them, it was also the branding ceremony and official acceptance as one of them of the son of Matthew Caine.

Kwai Chang stepped on the platform and waited for the blessing by the Dalai Lama. His look was straight ahead, to the place where Michael was standing with Peter. A barely seen smile on the young man’s face indicated his note that the little one had actually allowed to be carried by another person.

The blessing was finished. The complete silence was the sign for Caine to step forward. He collected sleeves and never took sight off the toddler. Now more than ever he needed his son’s bravery and the boy gladly gave it to him.

The unbearable heat-wave hit him but he did not resist; he welcomed it.

Caine crouched in front of the cauldron and prepared his forearms. One last look towards Peter, and he pressed.

Quiet moan of pain and smell of burned flesh filled the air. Through the mist of his welled eyes Kwai Chang Caine saw a path unveiling before him.

And thus began a new part of the Legend.

**THE END**

 


End file.
